


The Infernal Devices Reimagined

by Halineblackhallow



Category: TID - Fandom, TSC, The Infernal Devices, The Shadowhunter Chronicles
Genre: ...which is herongraystairs, AU, Angst, F/M, I’m gonna give us ALL what we deserve, Pining, Reimagined
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-10
Updated: 2019-01-10
Packaged: 2019-10-07 12:37:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 29
Words: 52,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17365985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Halineblackhallow/pseuds/Halineblackhallow
Summary: A bookish girl gets wrapped up in the shadow world, finds true love, and destroys an evil. It’s the story you all know, except it’s not.





	1. The Dark House

London, 1878

The toxic curtain that enveloped London had tightened around Tessa on that fateful day. Her manager had yelled at her that day for propping up her book on the loom and reading while working at the factory. It was the only way she could even attempt to endure the soul-crushing monotony that was her every day since her dear Aunt Harriet passed away. She felt as if her head would burst open, as though her tongue was too large for her mouth. Ever since she was a young girl Tessa had wished to shed her skin and live a life more fulfilling and exciting life like the ones she had read about in her books. But that had always been a hope; just a childish dream that would never come true.

It was a dream until that auspicious letter from her brother Nate. He had invited her to come live with him, saying that there were special opportunities in store for her. Tessa had almost instantaneously sent Nate her letter of fervent enthusiasm in the idea, and eagerly awaited the day she would finally leave this wretched place. Today was the day. Tessa's heart rose in anticipation, and for the first time in possible years, Tessa felt hopeful. She was restless, too. Nate had promised Tessa an escort would take her to his home. They were impossibly late.

After what felt like hours of waiting, a coach came down the street and came to a stop in front of her. Two women stepped out of the coach, one tall and thin, the other short and plump. They both had pale, almost colorless hair and wore unusually bright clothes along with gloves. The shorter one of the two walked up to Tessa, spoke.

"I am Mrs. Black and this is my sister, Mrs. Dark,"

"Good morning Mrs. Black, Mrs. Dark. I am Theresa Gray. How do you do?" Tessa replied with a courteous bow.

Mrs. Black, ignoring the formality, continued. "We have been sent to collect you by Mr. Nathaniel Gray. Shall we leave?"

"Yes, please! Right away!"

The sister's coachman let her into the vehicle, and as she entered Tessa noted his strange bulging eyes. They were quite unsettling, giving him the image of a frog more than that of a man. However, Tessa brushed the thought aside. Today she would be reunited with her brother, and all of her worries would disappear.

After an uncomfortable ride, the coach stopped in front of a dubious looking building. It was falling apart at the seams and dulled, rotting away.

"Mrs. Black, Mrs. Dark is this truly where my brother lives?" Tessa asked. The two women gave her no reply. They simply stared ahead with these blank looks, eyes protruding out of their sockets. 

A slow, creaking sound came from behind the carriage.

"Mrs. Black, Mrs. Dark, did you hear that?" No response.

The sound came ever closer.

"Mrs. Black, Mrs. Dark, what is going on?" Still nothing. 

The carriage shook violently, hurling Tessa to the other side. Her two companions, however, remained indifferent, not shuffling an inch. The metal of the carriage was screaming, being ripped apart by some unknown force. Tessa desperately tugged at the door, but to no avail, so she stood up and kicked the door. After a few hits, it seemed it buckle. The ripping metal was screeching in agony. Tessa reared back for the final blow that would free - 

A vice like grip took hold of her shoulder and dragged her out of the carriage. Her head smacked onto the ground and warm blood trickled down her forehead, smearing the asphalt ground. The two other women casually exited the dilapidated carriage and followed behind.

"What is happening? Where is my brother?" Tessa demanded, her voice going shrill. She gathered up asphalt in her hands and threw it at the coachman's eyes in attempt to blind him, but to no affect. Undeterred, she reared up her leg to kick him. Her foot struck his abdomen, and a jolt of pain was sent up her leg. What was this man made of, metal? In any case, Tessa was helplessly dragged into the house and locked inside a study with the Dark Sisters. 

The study was a rather small, dusty room. There were a few bookshelves lining the wall filled with books that looked ancient. A dismal rug had been thrown in the center of the room. It must have been rich with color once upon a time, but now time had taken away its luster, leaving it fraying at the edges. The desk was what interest Tessa the most. It was like most desks, with two chairs for the Dark Sisters and one more for any visitors they may entertain, but it was what was on the desk that peaked her interest. 

A globe of the world was perched on the desk. It had all the territories of the world, but with and addition in between Switzerland and Germany. Blocked in with gold was a country labeled "Idris". 'How curious,' Tessa thought. She filled it away in her brain and returned her focus to the matter at hand. 

"What is the meaning of this?" Tessa demanded once more. The Dark Sisters offered her no answer, but gestured for her to take a seat as they had. Eager for any explanation, Tessa did as was asked. 

"We are sorry to tell you that you have been deceived, Ms. Gray," There was no sympathy in Mrs. Black's voice, "Your brother did not willingly write the letter you received, and he is not here. However, if you do ever wish to see him again, you must do exactly as we instruct you and nothing more." 

"What could I possibly do for you? I haven't many skills, I've spent most of my working life at a sewing mill but I doubt I'd be a very good seamstress. I'm very proficient at reading, a bit too proficient according to some- but beyond that I doubt I have much to offer." Tessa said breathlessly. Adrenaline had began pumping through her veins. Her hands grew clammy and head swam as her body entered fight of flight mode. Tessa clenched the fabrics of her dress in her fists and focused on breathing in and out. It was all she could do to remain coherent. 

"We assure you, Ms. Gray that what we need you to do is something only you could do," there was a mischievous glint in Mrs. Dark's eyes. She had seen the discomfort they had brought Tessa and was entertained by it. Mrs. Black, on the other hand, continued to stare off into space, indifferent. Tessa couldn't decide which attitude she preferred. 

Mrs. Dark went on, "The longer explanation involves many words that have no place in that pretty little head of yours, but in short, you were born with a special gift. My sister and I were hired by a person who is interested in your gift, and our job is to help you harness this gift using any force necessary." Seeing Tessa's distraught look, she playfully added, "Short of killing you, of course. But mark my words, there will be pain." 

Tessa took a deep breath and forced herself to look her captors in the eye. "I have a few demands," she said with a calmness she did not  feel, "First, I want proof that my brother is alive. You may whisk him away once again, but I want him here in the flesh. Next, I want continued proof that he is alive. You need not bring him here every time, but I want evidence. Finally, I want him to be treated properly. He doesn't require a palace, but give him three meals a day and a bed to sleep in. These are my demands. I do hope that they are acceptable." 

"We can meet all these demands, but Ms. Gray, all these demands are regarding your brother. Have you none for yourself?" asked Mrs. Dark.

Tessa steeled her nerves and gave the Dark Sisters the most confident look she could muster, "I can weather whatever hell you throw my way." 

The room Tessa had been given smell very strongly of mildew. She was allowed a rickety bed comprised of rotting wood, a lumpy mattress, and was given a flea bitten blanket for when the chill settled in. Beyond that, there was an armoire with a jug of water on it and a boarded up window. This would be her home for the next however long. 

There was a knock on the door.

Tessa quickly answered the knock and found a small framed girl standing before her. Since Tessa was fairly tall for a girl, most other women looked small to her, but this girl would be considered small by conventional standards. She was thin to the point of being malnourished and wore the garb of a parlor maid. The name "Miranda" had been haphazardly stitched over her breast pocket. 

"Hullo Miranda! How do you do?" Tessa had always tried to be polite to servants. She knew how terribly they were treated in some places. Miranda did not react to her greeting. 

"Mr. Gray is here. Go to him quickly, he will not remain for long." She droned.

"Thank you very much for tell-" The parlor maid had already left. A bit perturbed, Tessa went down the creaking steps of the house to greet her brother. 

There were heavy bags under his eyes and his fair hair fell unkempt around his face, but it was him. Tessa heart leapt at the sight of her dear brother Nate.

"Tessie! Oh, Tessa how wonderful it is to-" he only got so far in his sentence before Tessa assaulted him with a fierce embrace. 

When she finally let him go, Tessa was distraught to see that Nate had lost weight. He was barely skin and bones. 

"Have they been feeding you well? Were you starved? Did they- did they harm you?" Tessa interrogated.

"I'm as well as I could hope to be, Tessie. But how have you been? I'm so sorry that this has happened to us. I was such a fool. I should have known that this Pandemonium Club business was out of my depth. I'm dreadfully sorry. Could you ever forgive me?" Nate said, choking back a sob. Tessa offered him a smile she did not feel. 

"All will be alright in the end, Nate, don't you worry. Just do as they say and don't make any trouble." 

Nate's lip quivered and he looked Tessa with teary eyes. "Do you promise?"

"Yes Nate, I swear on my life." 

The Dark Sisters made good on their promise to teach Tessa how to use her gift using any force necessary. Everyday she was woken up by the Dark's maid and taken to the sister's study. It was here that she would spent most of the day, focusing on one object or the other . In the beginning Tessa didn't understand what the Darks wanted from her. They kept telling her to "Change".  

However, slowly she began to feel memories coming from the objects, emotions, thoughts, names. Tessa often found that she could feel what the owner of the object felt, as though she was shedding her own skin and stepping into their own. It always felt like stepping into someone else's skin. Forcing her way in and learning their deepest desires and darkest fears without them consenting to it. Tessa hated doing it, but soldiered on for her dear brother's sake.

Tessa eventually lost track of time itself. She could no longer distinguish night from day. It could have been weeks that she was trapped in the Dark House or perhaps even years. Her skin grew deathly pale and her brown eyes gaunt from being in near darkness for so long. 

There was a constant stream of letters from Nate as per her demands. Most were fairly brief, saying hello Tessa or how have you been. Responding to these letters was not something she was allowed to do, so she was unable to reassure her brother of her health when the letters grew panicked. 

Despite being unable to respond, Tessa nevertheless wrote letters back to him. It was a fairly inane thing to do, she knew, but Tessa felt that writing those letters by candlelight was the only thing that kept her sane in her days of confinement. 

One day the Change was less like stepping into another soul and more becoming another person. Tessa could even feel the bones in her body reshaping themselves, and her skin stretching out to accommodate them as she screamed in agony. She looked down upon herself and realised that she had quite literally transformed into another woman, with the woman's thoughts and feelings whirling around in Tessa's head. The Dark Sisters looked at Tessa with immense satisfaction.

"It is done." Said Mrs. Black, eyes sparkling with anticipation. "The girl is ready,"

"Ready? Ready for what?" Tessa cried, thrown off balance. The Dark Sister ignored her and instructed Miranda to take her up to her room and make sure she didn't leave.

"What will become of me?" Tessa pleaded with Miranda. 

"You are to meet with the Magister," Miranda replied in that monotone voice of hers. 

"The Magister? Of what? What does the Magister want of me?"

"The Magister is a great man. You are to meet with the Magister." 

"What? I don't understa-" Miranda slammed the door shut with surprising force, leaving Tessa trapped in the room alone with her thoughts.


	2. Guardian Angel

Tessa restlessly paced the length of the room. Both Miranda and the Dark Sisters had given her cryptic answers for whom this "Magister" person was. Miranda insisted that he was "a great man", but a person who the Dark Sisters deemed a great man was not a person Tessa wanted to meet with. But what could she do? She was trapped inside the house and forced to do their bidding. Unless she somehow escaped...

Tessa eyes found their way to the boarded up window. The nails weren't fastened that securely. It had either been a rushed job or they hadn't expected anyone to try escape out the window. 

Tessa surveyed her fingernails. They had grown long during her time in the Dark House. It might be a bit painful, but she could definitely remove the nails with them. 

A floorboard creaked outside her bedroom. 

Tessa whipped her head around with such speed that her dark brown hair flew in the air for a split second. She had to leave now. No one could interrupt her escape. 

In an instant Tessa's steely gray eyes shot open, alert. She stealthily crept over to the armoire and seized a jug of water, prepared to knock out whoever walked through that door. 

The intruder stepped into the room and Tessa hurled the jug at him. Stopping in his tracks, the intruder turned to glare at her with this remarkable blue eyes. They were the color of deep blue velvet, the kind aristocratic women's dresses were made of. His noble face was framed by his illustrious black hair, though damp from the jug Tessa had thrown at him. He had broad shoulders and was powerfully built, and there was a strange black mark peaking out from under his shirt. He appeared to be about seventeen or eighteen years of age, much like Tessa. 

"My gravest apologies for entering your home without permission miss, but was it imperative for you to lob a jug at my face?"

"Oh, no-no it wasn't," Tessa sputtered, "I was just-May I ask who you are and why you are here?"

"I am William Herondale," William Herondale bowed. "And I am here to save you, of course."

"Save me?"

"But of course! A respectable young lady such as yourself would not reside in such a dilapidated place willingly?" Mr. Herondale gestured around the room as he spoke. What he said was true; despite them having a maid, the Dark Sister's home was was in dire disrepair. It gave off the aura of an abandoned factory, not a home.

"How perceptive of you, Mr. Herondale. These women have taken my brother, Nathaniel Gray hostage and have trapped me here to do their bidding. Everyday they force me to use this strange gift I posses and "Change". Today I managed to transform into another woman entirely, and they want me to meet some person called "The Magister" because of it." 

"You're a shapeshifter? How intriguing. Well you Ms...?"

"Gray. Theresa Gray." 

"Well Ms. Theresa Gray, you find yourself in quite the predicament. Please allow me to help you. I am a shadowhunter, after all." 

Tessa wasn't sure what a "shadowhunter" was meant to be, but that question could wait for later. 

"Then please help me as shadowhunters do and save me." 

"Are you certain? You may receive some of your brother's fingers in the mail for doing so."

"Irrelevant. A few fingers are nothing compared to a life of imprisonment." 

"Very well, Ms. Gray, you have made your decision. Please follow me out and step on only the places that I do. The floorboards are awfully creaky, and we wouldn't want anyone to know of your escape." 

As she followed Mr. Herondale to the stairs, Tessa noticed that he had a metal scabbard slung over his back with the glistening handle of a sword poking out. In addition, he wore a belt with knives stuck in places where he could reach for them in the heat of battle. "Shadowhunters" clearly weren't very peaceful helpers. 

The small figure of Miranda appeared before Mr. Herondale and Tessa, blocking their path. "You cannot leave," She stated.

"Oh, Miranda. Please, let us pass." Tessa begged the younger girl. She must have understood her plight.

"You cannot leave," Miranda repeated.

"Miranda, please, listen to me!"

"You cannot leave." Miranda began purposefully marching towards Tessa.

"Miranda, I have no wish to fight you. Just let us pass, please!"

The girl of barely fifteen grabbed Tessa and threw her against the wall, hard. Disorientated, Tessa tried to straighten herself. Miranda once again reach for Tessa but made it no closer as Mr. Herondale had sprung into action. He drew his sword and swung it in a swift motion, slashing at Miranda's neck. Tessa gasped as her head fell to the ground and began leaking not blood but some other, darker liquid. 'Oil,' Tessa thought.

One would assume that severing the head from a foe would stop said foe, but the now headless parlor maid did not relent in her attack. Now with oil pouring out of her neck, Miranda turned her attention to Mr. Herondale. 

Mr. Herondale swung again, this time aiming for her stomach. Miranda grabbed the sword on its way to her with her hands and cleanly snapped it into two halves. 

Tessa gasped. The sword had sanded away the layers of skin on Miranda's hands, revealing an endoskeleton of metal. 

Unperturbed by the lost of his weapon, Mr. Herondale reached for one of the daggers on his belt and shouted the name "Ramiel". 

"She's an automaton! Aim for her chest and try to damage her circuitry!" Tessa cried. 

Mr. Herondale grimaced and took a few steps back, trying to create some distance between him and Miranda, but Miranda was no longer interest in him. She had heard Tessa's voice, and was now charging for her. 

Tessa made to run but it was unnecessary. Miranda may have been strong, but she was slow and her movements were clunky. Mr. Herondale quickly caught up with her and plunged his dagger into her back, dragging it around her chest to try and damage her circuitry as much as he could. 

The automaton girl finally fell to the ground, her body leaking gallons of oil into the floorboards. 

"I see that stealth is no longer an option. Let's leave before more reinforcements arrive." said Mr. Herondale

As they were leaving, Tessa noticed a strange marking on Miranda's back. It resembled two snakes intertwined. 'A double ouroboros,' Tessa thought, 'What could this mean?'

Tessa and Mr. Herondale flew down the stairs and made for the entrance when suddenly a figure tackled Mr. Herondale to the ground. 

Tessa raced over to see that it was Mrs. Black on the ground wrestling with Mr. Herondale. Her hands, free of their gloves, looked like the talons of a predatory bird. 

Tessa grasped a nearby coat hanger stand and swung it wildly at Mrs. Black in a panicked attempt at helping Mr. Herondale, her body invigorated by adrenaline. Tessa's improvised weapon found its mark and Mrs. Black recoiled away from Mr. Herondale. 

Freed from the hold of Mrs. Black, Mr. Herondale fired off some sort of signal and drew one of his daggers, this time shouting the name 'Cassiel'. The knife lite up and Mr. Herondale lunged at Mrs. Black. The woman had regained enough strength to roll away and was at once back on her feet, ready to attack. No sooner had Mrs. Black recovered, two other men tore through the door and struck her. 

Mrs. Black shot forward and collided with Tessa, sending her flying backward. Tessa was conscious for just long enough to see one of the two men who had just appeared slice Mrs. Black's head off.


	3. The Nephilim

When Tessa finally came to, a strange man was inspecting her. He wore a large cloak to shield his face, but Tessa could faintly see his face. The coloration of his skin was dull and gray, like an ancient statue; timeless and lifeless. Strange symbols were all over his face and body, carved into his skin as if by a knife. Most disturbingly, his mouth seemed to have been sewn shut. Seeing she had awoken, the man looked up at her. Tessa heard the words Are you harmed in her head and shrieked, jerking backward to the headboard of the bed she lay on. 

"Do not be alarmed, Ms. Gray!" A feminine voice called out to her. The voice belonged to a woman who had been sitting at her bedside. She was definitely older than Tessa but was rather small. Her face was quite neat, as though measured by a mathematician to have complete symmetry. Her fair brunette hair had also been tied into a calculated knot, away from her face. The woman looked at Tessa with warm brown eyes and spoke. "I am Charlotte Branwell, and you are safe here at the London Institue, Ms. Gray. This man is a Silent Brother, Brother Enoch. He is here on a mission to riddle out what you truly are."

"Do Silent Brothers usually communicate through telepathy?" Tessa asked the woman, relaxing, though only slightly.

"As frightening as it seems, it is the only way that the Silent Brothers can communicate. They have forsaken sound in order to devote their lives to research."

What you are, Brother Enoch continued, seemingly unoffended by Tessa's reaction to him, is quite a difficult question to answer. You are definitely a  Downworlder, perhaps even a Warlock. It is difficult to tell, what with the lack of a mark.

"Downworlder? Warlock?" Tessa repeated, completely bewildered. 

"A Downworlder is someone who has some sort of demonic influence, like blood for example," Ms. Branwell explained. "A faerie is one such Downworlder. They are a half-angel, half-demon hybrid and a rather reclusive race. There are also werewolves and vampires, who are humans with demonic illnesses. The kind of Downworlder that Brother Enoch believes you to be is a Warlock, who is a half-human and half-demon that can perform magic. A warlock usually has some sort of demonic mark on his body revealing him as one, and you do not, which is quite puzzling."

"I see," replied Tessa. How unfortunate that even the people that specialized in supernatural aberrations did not know what she was. 

"Well, Ms. Gray, I understand that this is a lot to take in. I will give you a moment to process all this. We do not know who the people that abducted you are but have reason to believe that they are a part of a larger conspiracy. We will aid you in rescuing your brother, but in the mean time would prefer if you were to remain at the London Institue, for your own safety." Ms. Branwell exited the room, leaving Tessa alone with Brother Enoch. 

Ms. Gray, what I told you before is not the complete truth, told Brother Enoch, there is a possibility that you are an Eidolon, a shapeshifting demon.

" A demon?!" 

It is the only other known possibility. I have never come across someone like you in all my life, so I may well be wrong. But it is a possibility. I assumed that you would prefer to be the first to hear this, so I did not divulge this information while Mrs. Branwell was in the room.

"Ah, yes. Thank you, Brother Enoch." Brother Enoch rose from his seat and left the room without producing the slightest of noises. Tessa fell back on the bed, overwhelmed by the events of the day. 

In a twisted way, Tessa had gotten what she wanted, a change. But this was not the change that she wanted. She had wished for an ideal life living with her brother, writing her own books, eventually falling in love and starting her own family. Tessa had never wished for her brother to be taken away from her, and to be confined in a dark house for six weeks. Most of all, she didn't want to be a demon. But perhaps hope needn't be lost. In every story she had read, the heroine had to overcome some great obstacle to achieve her happily ever after. So would Tessa. She would brave any storm and climb every mountain to have her happily ever after. 

Energized, Tessa ascended from the bed, her toes curling as they came in contact with the cold marble floor. She paused to look herself over in the mirror. Her eyes were watery and red; thick brown hair sticking up in various directions. Her skin was ghostly pale from being indoors exclusively for such an extended period of time. 

Tessa's lungs longed for the smell of fresh air, skin tingling with want to feel the wind. Tessa laced up her boots and briefly straightened her unruly hair. After somehow navigating the maze-like corridors of the institute, Tessa left the institute and practically sprinted out of the gates. She knew it was improper for a lady to be out without an escort but she needed to be outside. 

The cool, mid-May breeze caressed Tessa's body and ruffled her hair. Springtime had always been Tessa's favorite time of the year when the parks in London were blooming and rains came fewer so the sun had more time to shine. She closed her eyes and allowed the sweet smells of freedom to entice her senses. 

Tessa had been peacefully strolling down the street when the haunting sound of a violin swept her out of her reverie. The music sounded so poignant, as if the player had experienced such great sorrows that words could not even begin to describe it. Tessa found herself drawn towards the sound, wanting to know about this desolate man. 

Tessa followed the violin until she came at an arching footbridge running across the River Thames, Blackfriars Bridge. There he stood; a silver-haired man playing the violin in the moonlight, fixated on it as if it were all that mattered to him in the world. For a while, Tessa stood watching the man play as the notes weaved their way into her bones. The entire world was lost to them, all that existed was the man and his beloved violin. 

He did pause, in due time, to see who was his unexpected audience. He looked incredibly bleached, as though someone had sucked all the color from him. His eyes, hair, and skin were all white. But there was a winsome feeling to him like an angel; graceful and pristine. He was as lovely as the virgin snow.

"Oh, I'm dreadfully sorry for disturbing you, sir," said Tessa."The sound of your violin was so moving, I had to hear it more closely."

The man gave her a kind smile."Don't apologize for enjoying my music; I'm very glad you came to hear it. I play here on Blackfriar Bridge almost every week and the world just ignores me. I was beginning to think that I am not as good as my friend Will tells me I am."

"That's preposterous! Your violin was so beautiful I felt like you had taken me into another world entirely! It was as lovely as a stroll through a blooming garden!" 

"I'm very glad that you have such enthusiasm for my music, Ms. Gray." 

"How do you know my name?"

"How would I not? Will has been talking none stop about how he "bravely trudged into unknown territory" and "single handed felled an automaton foe." 

"Indeed. I quail at the mere thought of what may have happened to me if he hadn't found me when he did."

"Charging into danger all by himself; how like Will," The man chuckled "Oh, I am James Carstairs, one of the three wards living in the London Institute."

"Ah, yes the institute. I had a question about that. What is it an institute for, exactly?"

"The institute serve as the local power bases of the Nephilim, much like embassies in the mundane world. Charlotte Branwell and Mr. Henry Branwell are the heads of the London Institute," Upon seeing Tessa's bemused look, Mr. Carstairs elaborated further. "The Nephilim, or shadowhunters, are the guardians of the mundane world. It is our sacred duty to protect mundane from demons and maintain order between the Downworlders." Tessa nodded, understanding. 

The night grew darker and Mr. Carstairs offered to escort Tessa back to the Institute.

"It was a pleasure meeting you, Ms. Gray." 

"Likewise, Mr. Carstairs."


	4. The London Institute

Mr. Carstairs open the large doors of the Institute for Tessa, explaining that they could only be opened by someone possessing shadowhunter blood. Tessa ambled into the institute, admiring the opulence of the place. 

The institute's ceiling stretched out impossibly high, touching the heavens themselves. The building had been built in the gothic style, with immense detailing in every nook and cranny. Tessa could picture the artist slaving away, carving the delicate lines of the institute, making sure every wall was a painting worthy of a masterpiece. A large stained glass window was settled at the top of the grand staircase. It depicted an angel rising out of a lake brandishing an elegant sword and a chalice. Everything about the London Institute was so grand; it was like a palace. Tessa found herself wishing she could have lived there forever. Mr. Carstairs offered to show her around the institute and Tessa, wishing to see more of this magnificent place, she gladly accepted his offer. 

He showed her first to the kitchen where she met the cook, Agatha, who was a large woman with dark hair. "What are you looking at?" Agatha had barked at her.

"Nothing! Nothing at all!" Tessa hurriedly apologized.

Afterward, Mr. Carstairs introduced to her Thomas Tanner the Institute's caretaker and the driver, whom Tessa recognized. "You were one of the men that Mr. Herondale called for at the Dark House, weren't you?" She looked him over once more. He was definitely tall and muscular enough to be called one of the Nephilim, though why he was a servant while Mr. Carstairs and Mr. Herondale were wards of the Institute confused her. 

"I am indeed one of the two men Will called for at the Dark House, however, I am not a one of the Nephilim. I come from a family of mundanes with the sight and trained alongside shadowhunters since I was twelve. " Tessa nodded. 

Mr. Carstairs then showed her the enormous library, filled up to the brim with books of all shapes and sizes. Tessa pranced into the room and eyed the shelves with excitement much like that of a child in a candy shop. "I take it that you enjoy reading?" Mr. Carstairs asked with a small smile.

"Enjoy reading?! Enjoy could never even begin to describe it. I live for reading!" Tessa gushed, scanning the shelves. She could see books on demonology, along with some of her favorites, like Pride and Prejudice. 

"If you enjoy reading so very much, I suggest reading this," Mr. Carstairs held up a thick book titled The Shadowhunter's Codex " I cannot promise it to be a great read, but you may wish to familiarize yourself with the things in it." 

Tessa thanked Mr. Carstairs for giving her the book and was reading it as Mr. Carstairs lead her back to her room. She was so engrossed in the text that she didn't notice the lady's maid before she knocked right into her. The maid looked up at her with the most terrified of looks.

"Pardon me miss, I should have been more careful," her soft voice had a wavering quality to it. The maid herself was very dainty. She seemed to be of very good breeding, with hair that was a ravishing darker brunette and her eyes luminous dark hazels. Her good looks were spoilt by a grotesque scar that ran all the way from the left corner of her mouth to her temple, distorting her features. Tessa trembled to think of what sort of terrible place such a small little thing such as herself would get a scar like that. 

"Nevermind it; I wasn't paying attention either," Tessa reassured the poor girl. She could not bring herself to utter a single cruel word to her. 

"How could I forget? Ms. Gray this is Sophia Collins, our parlor maid. She will serve as your Lady's Maid while you are staying here." As he spoke, Mr. Carstairs momentarily lost his footing and had to lean against his dragon-headed and jade-topped cane. Sophia grew very alert. 

"Mr. Carstairs, how about you head back to your quarters? I can lead Ms. Gray back to hers."

Mr. Carstairs nodded and began hobbling back to his quarters. Tessa wondered what could have compromised his health so suddenly. Sophia led Tessa back to the room she had come to in earlier that day. "Dinner will be served in a few hours from now. We usually eat later here in the institute due to Mr. Herondale's patrolling schedule keeping him out of the house for long hours into the night. In the meantime, is there anything you would like for me to get you, Ms. Gray?" Tessa shook her head and sent Sophia away. 

It was indeed a long time before Sophia called her for dinner. Tessa poured all of that time into studying about the Shadow World from the codex. If she was to challenge this brave new world, she needed to have her wits about her. 

The table where they would sit to eat was, like most things in the London Institute, massive. It could have easily seated over thirty people. At dinner Tessa saw Mrs. Branwell and Mr. Carstairs along with the last of the men who had come to her aid at the Dark House, Tessa assumed he was Henry Branwell, and a woman. Henry Branwell was a tall and slender man with a cloud of undisciplined ginger hair nestled comfortably on his head. His waistcoat was absolutely ruined; he seemed to have repeatedly splashed it with oil of some kind. 

The woman was a bewitching English rose, with rosy skin and fair blonde hair. He eyes were like pools of the sweetest chocolates. She looked like a woman that men in Tessa's books would fall over themselves to court. Her head was perched on her slender fingers as she looked on at the scene before her with disinterest. 

"Ms. Gray! How lovely of you to join us for dinner," said Mrs. Branwell who, Tessa noted, was the one sitting at the head of the table, despite being co-heads along with her husband.

"It would have been much lovelier if Will could have been bothered to also join us for dinner," the English rose grumbled "but I suppose he's off fighting some demon with no regard to his safety; how like him." 

"Ms. Gray this is Jessamine Lovelace; Jessamine, Ms. Theresa Gray." said Mrs. Branwell "And this is, of course, my husband, Henry Branwell."

"How do you do," Ms. Lovelace stated apathetically. 

On the other hand, Mr. Branwell was completely lost to the world preoccupied with his newspaper.

"Henry. Henry dear, we have a guest," Mrs. Branwell spoke to him in a very soft voice, gently shaking his arm. Mr. Branwell immediately looked up and took notice of Tessa.

"Ms. Gray! How great to finally make your acquaintance. I've heard all sorts of things about you from Brother Enoch and Will." 

Tessa sat down beside Mr. Carstairs and soon thereafter Sophia and Agatha walked into the dining room with plates of delicious smelling food. By the time they were done there was more food on that table than Tessa had seen in her entire life. After quickly saying their prayers, the table of people quickly began to serve themselves. Discussions over what would be done with Tessa's 'situation' were carried out over dinner.

"We will relieve her plight," said Mr. Carstairs "it is the Nephilim's duty to serve and protect any Downworlder in need, after all

"Forgive me, but what evidence do you have beyond her word that Ms. Gray can truly shape-shift?" Ms. Lovelace said with an airy tone as she picked at her food, "Even Brother Enoch's analysis had been carried out leaning on this fact." 

"Ms. Lovelace!" Sophia cried, "She is our guest!"

"I just want us to have all the facts. For all we know, this could just be some mundane wanting to con us."

"I understand, Ms. Lovelace. This bit of skepticism is healthy," Tessa said, biting down on a bit of annoyance that had just bubbled up, "May I have a thing of yours so that I can prove to you that I can shape-shift?" Ms. Lovelace uncertainly handed Tessa a ring that she had been wearing.

Tessa focused on the ring and soon enough, she could see the memories. A happy family. A beautiful home. Everything she had ever wanted. The Change then fully took over her, reshaping her features so she took on the form of Jessamine Lovelace. When the Change finally completed, Tessa found her mind to be bombarded by torrents of negative emotions. Bitterness, longing, hate, all of which were just ripples along a river fueled by a deep depression. Her heart suddenly ached. Nothing mattered to her anymore. All she had ever loved was gone. How could Ms. Lovelace live with such emotions festering in her mind? Tessa quickly reversed the Change. 

"Does that suffice, Jessamine?" asked Mrs. Branwell. Ms. Lovelace looked away with a glum expression on her face, and Tessa sat back down feeling very satisfied. Mrs. Branwell continued speaking "As of now, the main lead we have is the Dark Sister's home. Is there anything else you can think of that may be helpful to us, Ms. Gray?"

"My brother, Nathaniel Gray, mentioned something about a "Pandemonium Club" and how he shouldn't have gotten involved with it. Perhaps that could be a lead?" 

"Hmm. Interesting. Is there anyone who might have known if Ms. Gray had joined some dubious organization?" 

"Well there is his employer. Nate worked for Mortmain Industries, under an Axel Mortmain."

"Very well then; it's decided," Mrs. Branwell sat with her head balanced on her laced hands, deep in thought "Henry and I shall visit Mr. Axel Mortmain while James and William go and have a second look at the Dark Sister's home. Jessamine-"

"Jessamine will take Ms. Gray shopping," Ms. Lovelace said.

"Come along Jessamine; you cannot keep avoiding doing actual work," Ms. Branwell said sharply.

"But it is actual work! Ms. Gray here is in a completely new part of the city, with not a penny to her name and only one dress!" Ms. Lovelace turned to Tessa, "Don't you need new dresses?" 

"Well yes, I suppose I-"

"See Charlotte?" Ms. Lovelace exclaimed, "Ms. Gray is in dire need of new clothing, and as her chaperones it is our duty to provide her with that. It is the polite thing to do!"

"Since when have you cared for politeness, Jessamine?" Mr. Carstairs said, though in good spirits.

"You wound me, James. I am a lady. I live, breath, and eat politeness."


	5. Cruel Beast

The next morning Tessa was awake bright and early. She and Sophia spent a considerable amount of time trying to squeeze her into the ridiculously small waistline of Ms. Lovelace's amorous red dress. Tessa thought that Ms. Lovelace had asked Sophia to reconfigure the fit, but then figured that this probably was the fit. Reeling from the excessively tight corset, Tessa made her way downstairs hoping that she wouldn't faint. 

Ms. Lovelace gave Tessa barely enough time to eat breakfast before they were in the coach off to London with Thomas. Tessa spent the entire morning being dragged from shop to shop, having her measurements taken and the fabrics selected. Ms. Lovelace allowed her to wear only the most exquisite of dresses with the slimmest of waistlines.

"Ms. Lovelace!" Tessa cried while having her measurements taken for the umpteenth time "As you've noted yourself, I have barely a penny to my name, I cannot afford these dresses!" Ms. Lovelace waved her worries aside. 

"Nonsense! You will not be paying for these dresses. It will be me, of course!"

Thus, Ms. Lovelace continued to tote Tessa all around London until her feet ache and head spun. By the end of it, Ms. Lovelace had commissioned seven new dresses, ("One for each day of the week!" She had said) and would have likely bought more if Tessa hadn't convinced her to take a detour to the park. The day was clear, and living in London taught one to cherish clear days.

The two women walked without saying much for a while. The silence grew uncomfortable, and Tessa felt she had to break it.

"Mrs. Black and Mrs. Dark owned a very peculiar globe of the world. There was a country between Switzerland and Germany called "Idris"."

"Ah, yes, Idris. The ancestral home of the glorious half angel half human race of shadowhunters. Enchanted so that it may remain hidden from mundane eyes and maps," Ms. Lovelace explained with a mocking tone.

"Do you dislike the shadowhunters, despite being one yourself,  Ms. Lovelace?" 

"At age ten all shadowhunters are given their first rune, voyance. Runes are gifts from the Angel, they provide shadowhunters with powers beyond those of mundanes," Tessa nodded, remembering seeing them on Mr. Herondale. Ms. Lovelace showed Tessa her arm, "As you can see, I have none.

"I have no Marks because to live as a shadowhunter is to live as fighter, and I hate fighting. Violence is repulsive, and I could not imagine why one would want to dedicate his life to it," Ms. Lovelace came to a very abrupt stop.

There was a shriveled up creature with snarling teeth and gargantuan ears standing before them. He eyed the two women like they were two particularly succulent turkeys. With shaking hands, Ms. Lovelace held up her pink laced parasol as though it was a shield. "Leave now and we can part in peace," she commanded. 

The beast sniggered "Tall words coming from Jessamine Lovelace, the disgrace of the London Institute."

"Leave. NOW!" Ms. Lovelace shouted, "I do not wish to end a life today." Her voice wavered.

"I will not be ordered around by a sorry excuse for a shadowhunter that does nothing but laze around." 

Ms. Lovelace was saved from having to respond by a glowing blade jabbing itself into the beast's abdomen. Dirty blood leaked out of its stomach and it crumpled to the ground. 

"Were you hoping to bore it into leaving you alone?" a smug voice called out from the shadows. 

"Perhaps I was, Herondale. It's none of your business, is it?" Ms. Lovelace replied, scowling. 

"If you were to simply give it a gentle prod with that razor tipped parasol of yours, my intervention would not have been necessary." Mr. Herondale stepped out into the light and smirked, his deep blue eyes sparkling in the sunlight. 

"I am quite aware that killing him would make him go away. I did not fight him because, as I have told you a million times, violence is repulsive-"

"I'm sure you would find yours and Ms. Gray's grisly deaths to be repulsive as well, Jessie." he gave Tessa an impish smile, "How do you do, Ms. Gray? Aren't you happy to not be a bleeding corpse at this moment?" Tessa suddenly felt very bashful. Ms. Lovelace snorted.

"Why are you here, Herondale? Weren't you investigating some house with James, where is he?" Mr. Herondale's eyes went as wide as dinner plates and he rushed off. Tessa's eyes followed him as he went. Ms. Lovelace, noticing this, looked at Tessa with horror.

"Ms. Gray! You had better not be catching a fancy for that rascal!" Ms. Lovelace cried.

"A little bit louder please, Ms. Lovelace. I don't think that the entire city heard," Tessa said, feeling a bit mortified. 

"I'm sorry, but you cannot fancy William Herondale. There are men you pursue, and then there are men who wind up dead in a disease ridden alley. Will is not the former." 

"Ms. Lovelace, I think that you fancy Mr. Herondale." Ms. Lovelace became as red as a beetroot. 

"Me?! Fancy that idiot?!" 

"Why else would you be so adamant about me not being able to fancy him?" 

"Will Herondale is a rapscallion, an idiot, a rascal with no care for anything or anyone. I-I," Ms. Lovelace grabbed Tessa's hand and dragged her back to the carriage, "I refuse to have this conversation in public!"


	6. A Terrible Fate

Lunch began the same way dinner had the previous day except with Mr. Herondale present. 

"How lovely that you've decided to join us this fine afternoon," Ms. Lovelace spoke in a deceitfully sweet voice. Mr. Herondale simply grinned. 

"I could not bear to stay for away any longer, my dear Jessie. My heart aches for you," Mr. Herondale replied in a mocking tone accompanied by exaggerated gestures. Ms. Lovelace rolled her eyes and scowled at Tessa as if to say 'This is because of you'. Tessa held back a laugh. 

"If the children are done bickering, we can get on to more pressing matters," chided Mrs. Branwell. "Henry and I have spoken with Mr. Mortmain and he says that young Nathaniel Gray was involved in gambling and owed money to some rather unsavory individuals, who we can assume were the Pandemonium Club. In addition, William and James discovered that the sisters' coachman was, like the maid, an automaton, a machine wrapped in human skin. Both of them had double ouroboros engraved on their backs."

"So Mr. Gray ends up losing a lot of money to the Pandemonium Club, and they take Ms. Gray as hostage to punish him for it," Ms. Lovelace surmised.

"That's not entirely correct, they wanted Ms. Gray too for her shapeshifter powers, so they were both being held hostage," Mr. Carstairs added.

"Alright then, so perhaps the Pandemonium Club had engineered the situation so that Mr. Gray would wind up owing money to them. This way, they would have a reason that made sense to him for taking his sister hostage. The Pandemonium Club probably didn't want the truth of Ms. Gray's abilities leaking to someone it didn't need to," Mr. Herondale suggested. 

"That leaves us with a what but not a who," Mrs. Branwell murmured, reclining in her chair. 

"Well, Mrs. Black and Mrs. Dark were Downworlders, so the people in the Pandemonium Club are probably also Downworlders," Tessa said meekly. It wasn't much to go off.

"Then I suppose I'll have to call for a meeting with every Downworld leader in London," Mrs. Branwell stood up and suddenly looked very tired, "Dismissed," 

For the rest of the day, the rest of the residents of the Institute were left up to their own devices. Tessa had been absentmindedly strolling through the building when the sound of music filled the hall. It definitely wasn't a violin, it sounded more like a piano. Curious, Tessa followed the sound to the Institute's grand ballroom. 

There in the center of the room stood a grand piano, shining in the late afternoon light. Tessa was shocked to find Ms. Lovelace tickling the ivories of the piano, perspiration trickling down her furrowed brow. She stopped playing only when she finished the piece. 

"Ms. Gray, I didn't see you walk in. Are you looking for someone?"

"Oh no, I just heard you playing. You're very good."

"Thank you. I learnt when I was still in the mundane schooling system. I usually play for the dancers here during the Christmas partyIt's the only time of the year that I'm useful, according to some."

"Why doesn't Mr. Carstairs play during the Christmas party? I'm sure you two would sound very wonderful together."

"James is very private about his music, he doesn't like others hearing it. He goes as far as only playing outside at night," Ms. Lovelace shrugged, "I can't imagine why." 

Ms. Lovelace started playing again, and Tessa understood that she was done talking to her. 

Once again at loss of what to do with herself, Tessa found herself ambling out of the Institute and back towards Blackfriars Bridge. At Blackfriars Bridge, Tessa spotted a familiar head of silver hair. 

"Mr. Carstairs!" She cried, lifting up her skirts so she could run to him. At the sound of his name, Mr. Carstairs turned around and greeted Tessa with a serene smile. 

"How come our paths always cross here at Blackfriars Bridge?" he remarked.

"Mr. Carstairs, Ms. Lovelace just told about how private you are of your music. I'm terribly sorry if I invaded your privacy."

"Not at all, Ms. Gray. You have not offended me in the slightest. In fact, I enjoyed how you raved about my music. Perhaps I will play for more people in the future." 

"Oh please do, Mr. Carstairs. The entire world needs to listen to your music!" 

"You are too kind, Ms. Gr-" Mr. Carstairs broke off. Tessa turned around to see what had captured his attention.

Two crudely made automatons were rigidly making their way towards the two. Mr. Carstairs' eyes met Tessa's and the message was clear: run. 

The two set off toward the institute. Mr. Carstairs was a shadowhunter, so the run was easy for him, but Tessa was struggling to keep up. Soon enough her lungs were begging for air, legs screaming in agony. After all those days of barely any movement, her body couldn't sustain a sprint. She couldn't make it to the Institute.  

Suddenly Mr. Carstairs' doubled over, taken by a fit of coughing. The coughs rocked his entire body, and he fell to the ground. 

"Mr. Carstairs!" Tessa cried. She ran over to where he lay on the ground, still coughing. There was blood on his shirt. "Mr. Carstairs, do you have a weapon?" With a trembling hand, he handed her his jade tipped cane.

Tessa brandished the cane at her oncoming foes. The faster of the two began swinging its bladed arms at her. Tessa jabbed the business end of the cane into its joint, jamming the movement. 

The wood part of the cane slide down, revealing a hidden blade. Quickly, Tessa drew the concealed blade out of its scabbard. 

The one with jammed joints was making a lot of noise trying to fix itself, and an idea stuck Tessa. She severed the head from the slowest one and slowly backed away, making as little sound as possible. The headless automaton wound up attacking it companion and finishing off the job for her. 

While the headless automaton was busy drilling a while in the middle of his friend, Tessa crept behind him. She plunged the sword into its back the second he was finished. 

Having dispatched of the automatons, Tessa returned to Mr. Carstairs' side. Blood soaked his shirt. Mr. Carstairs' eyes were fluttering, he was dancing on the edge of consciousness. 

She grabbed a hold of him and tried to pick him up, to no avail. If she couldn't pick him up, she would drag him back to the Institute. 

In any other situation, Tessa would have been scandalized at the thought of being in a man's room, but this was no ordinary situation. With the last of her strength, Tessa heaved Mr. Carstairs onto his bed. His body was still violently convulsing. 

"What do you need?" Tessa demanded. Mr. Carstairs pointed a shaking finger at a silver box on his nightstand. It was engraved with the image of a woman coming out of a lotus. Tessa quickly opened the box. Inside was pale, powdery substance that she wouldn't have thought was medicine. 

"Do I need to add anything to it?" 

"Wa- wat..."

"Water. I understand."

Tessa grabbed the jug of water and poured some out into a glass. Then, she added in Mr. Carstairs' medicine and gave him the mixture. 

Mr. Carstairs gulped down the medicine, and his symptoms instantly calmed. Relieved, Tessa sat down on the bed, exhausted. 

"My goodness, Mr. Carstairs. What a terrible disease you have," she remarked breathlessly.

"I wouldn't call it a disease exactly. It's more an... addiction." 

"An addiction?"

"Yes. You see, Ms. Gray, when I was a young boy living in Shanghai, my mother angered the greater demon, Yanluo, and Yanluo wanted revenge. But, he would not be satisfied by simply killing her, his revenge would be more...poetic. She had angered him by destroying his eggs, so she would suffer the same way he had.

"Yanluo broke into the Shanghai Institute and took me hostage. He bound me to a chair and forced my parents to watch as he injected me with his venom. To this very day, the sound of my parents pleading for him to let me go follow me into my nightmares.

"The Shanghai Enclave did arrive eventually, but they were too late. My parents were already dead, the demon had returned to the darkness, and I was addicted to its poison, yin fen. 

"Taking yin fen kills me, but not taking it kills me faster. No matter what I do, I will be gone within the next five years."

Tessa was shocked, she didn't know what to tell him. What could you say to a man who knew he was going to die?

"Isn't there any cure? Perhaps some way of-"

"The same questions ran through my head when they first told me, Ms. Gray, and I can assure you that there is no cure. Will and I have been searching for five years."


	7. The Dark Night

Dinner that evening was a brief affair. Mrs. Branwell said in passing that her meetings with Ragnor Fell, the high warlock of London, and Woosley Scott, the leader of London's werewolf pack, went smoothly. Ms. Lovelace grumbled something about Mr. Herondale the rascal once again missing dinner, and Mr. Branwell was so engrossed with his book that he began putting mashed potatoes in his drinking water. Tessa quietly noted that Mr. Carstairs too was not present, but no one commented on his absence.

After dinner, everyone retired to their chambers.

Tessa lay in bed, restlessly tossing and turning into the wee hours of the night. Finally, she crept out of bed a tried to read The Shadowhunter's Codex. Not even reading brought her peace. The words would all just swivel around in her mind, crashing into her frantic thoughts. Tessa massaged her temples as her head began to throb.

She signed and reclined in her chair. It was healthy to feel some frustration in her situation, wasn't it? A full day had passed since she had escaped from the Dark House, and Tessa had made barely any progress in finding Nate. 'Not that I've done anything,' Tessa thought surlily, 'Mrs. Branwell has done all the work for me.' 

Wherever Nate was, Tessa was not helping him by sitting in a room feeling sorry for herself. She put on a pair of gloves and boots (All on loan from Ms. Lovelace.) and threw on a coat over her nightgown. Some fresh air would help clear her thoughts.

Most women - nay, people - did not leave their homes at night. Many were much too tired after their long days of work, but most knew better than brave the streets at after sundown. There were dubious figures around every corner, hiding in every shadow. Before coming to the last six weeks, Tessa would have done the same.

But there was something different in Tessa as she walked the roads that night. She would no longer cower from the unknown, for that was where she lived now. London was ripe with secrets, and Tessa would discover ever single one until she had what she wanted.

Ahead of her, Tessa could see the silhouette of a man. A thief? Or perhaps even a drunkard. Whatever he was, Tessa wanted nothing to do with him.

She wanted nothing to do with him until he came into focus under a gas lamp, and Tessa saw that he was neither a thief nor a drunkard, he was William Herondale and he was covered in blood.

Tessa quickly made her way to him. "Mr. Herondale? What happened to you?" She whispered.

"It is not my blood that I'm bathing in right now if that's your worry. Not all of it, at least." As if on cue, Mr. Herondale's legs gave out, and he had to lean himself on the lamppost for balance. "All I need is a quick iratze, and I will be on my way."

"An iratze?"

"Yes Ms. Gray, an iratze. It's the shadowhunter rune for healing. I don't suppose you could draw me one?"

"Well, Mr. Herondale, if I hadn't even the knowledge of what an iratze was before you told me, why would I now know how to draw one?"

"You are very cutting, Ms. Gray."

"I apologize."

Mr. Herondale grunted and drew a wand-like thing from his belt. "This is a stele," he explained as he put the stele to his skin, "We shadowhunters use steles to draw runes on our skins."

Where the stele touched Mr. Herondale's arm, his skin turned black. He quickly drew a curling letter onto his arm. When Mr. Herondale finished drawing it, the rune glowed gold, and then faded away. Mr. Herondale stood up, reinvigorated.

"Where are you going, Mr. Herondale?"

"It's not something you need to know."

"Why not? Does it concern me?"

He gave no answer.

"Mr. Herondale, if it does in any way concern me, then I do believe that I have a right to know."

Mr. Herondale sighed. "If you must know, I may have found a tenuous connection in Baroness Camille Belcourt."

"How so?"

"During Charlotte's meeting with Alexi de Quincey, the leader of London's vampires, I heard him mention something of a dispute with the Baroness. When Charlotte pressed him on that, he refused. Therefore, she may know something that de Quincey would prefer stay under wraps."

Tessa raised her eyebrow. "That is quite a tenuous connection. Not only is it uncertain if Baroness Belcourt and Mr. de Quincey's quarrel is related to the Pandemonium Club, but it is uncertain if there is anything malicious in the works at all. When did you hear this, in any case, Mr. Herondale, I was under the impression that you were away on patrol?"

"Though you are right there, Ms. Gray, I beg to differ. If there is something that the leader of the vampires, someone who is on fairly good terms with shadowhunters, wouldn't tell the leader of London's Enclave, isn't it probable that it's Accords breaking?"

Tessa noted that he hadn't answered her question on how he knew this information, but decided not to press on it. It wasn't of utmost importance at the moment. "So what do you plan on doing with this suspicion, Mr. Herondale? Barging into Mr. de Quincey's home and demanding answers?"

Mr. Herondale's lips curled into a wry smile. "Of course not, Ms. Gray. I plan on barging into Baroness Belcourt's home and demanding answers," seeing Tessa roll her eyes, he added, "And she will likely give them to me because she has a grudge with de Quincey due to him having her werewolf lover killed."

"Give them to us, you mean," Tessa corrected. Mr. Herondale was about to refute her statement, but she cut him off, "Mr. Herondale, I am simply exhausted from shopping whilst everyone else around me works tirelessly to solve the problem I have caused. I must help you. I will go hysterical otherwise."

Mr. Herondale folded. "Alright, but do stay behind me. We wouldn't want for you to be terribly killed."

The home that Mr. Herondale led Tessa to was a fairly flamboyant manor. There was an ornate gate locking away a lush garden of blood-red roses, punctuated by sweeping arches. The cobbled lined path led up to a massive door dominated by a gaudy door knocker, sculpted in the image of a bat.

Four oddly pale men were patrolling the perimeter of the manor. Tessa tried to hide in the shadows as Mr. Herondale surveyed the scene before him.

"We need to get on the inside of this house," he mumbled.

"I'm fairly aware of this, Mr. Herondale, but how do you suggest we do so?" Tessa asked in a similarly muted tone.

"I could perhaps scale this wall and leap over the fence, but I doubt that you'd be able to do so, your not being a shadowhunter and all..."

"That is easily remedied." Mr. Herondale gave her a quizzical look.

She wasn't certain if it was possible, but Tessa had heard the Dark Sisters discussing if they would have time to teach her how it was done. Tessa closed her eyes and concentrated on how it was like to be her, tried to recreate those deep feelings of hate and sadness.

Tessa reached out for her soul, merged it with her own, and once again, she was Jessamine Lovelace.

Mr. Herondale regarded Tessa as though she had fallen from the sky as she scrutinized the Change. In her novice days of Changing, there would often be mistakes in her Changes, an ear that hadn't morphed, or a wisp of hair that remained too Tessa.

"I wasn't aware that you could do that, Ms. Gray," Mr. Herondale said with the slighted hint of awe in his voice.

"I wasn't either until a few moments ago."

Mr. Herondale drew one of the daggers from his belt. "This is a seraph blade. Assuming that changing into Jessie gives you the powers of a shadowhunter, when you say the name of an angel, the blade should ignite."

Tessa searched her memory for names of the angels. "Ithuriel."

A faint glow started emanating from the blade. "Excellent," Mr. Herondale said absentmindedly, pulling his stele from his belt, "Please show me your arm so that I may mark you with runes for speed and endurance."

Tessa stowed the seraph blade away in her coat for safe keeping and pulled up her sleeve so that her bare skin was revealed to Mr. Herondale. She felt a bit mortified in doing so.

The stele touched upon her skin, and there was a slight burning sensation as Mr. Herondale sketched the runes. Tessa realized that this was the first time that someone had ever drawn runes on "Ms. Lovelace". She wondered with dry amusement how horrified she would be to learn that someone was Mr. Herondale.

Finishing off the last rune, Mr. Herondale put away his stele and began testing the wall by them for footholds. When he was satisfied, Mr. Herondale motioned for Tessa to follow him up the wall, and after a moment's hesitation, she did.

Tessa stuck her fingers into the space between bricks and hoisted herself up, again, and again, and again. Her hands were blistered, and Tessa suspected that there were several rips in her nightgown, which Ms. Lovelace would not be pleased about.

Finally, Tessa pulled herself onto the rooftop of the building and briefly massaged her aching arms. She took off her ripped gloves and looked at her fingernails. Cracked and bleeding. Ms. Lovelace wouldn't be pleased with.

Peering over the edge, Tessa felt her resolve to shrink. The distance had seemed much less from below...

"I'm sorry Mr. Herondale, but even as Ms. Lovelace I cannot clear this jump."

"Don't worry Ms. Gray. I shall leap across first and then catch you."

"I don't know-" Mr. Herondale took hold of Tessa's hands and gave them a squeeze.

"I promise Ms. Gray," he whispered using the warmest tone she'd ever heard from him, "I will catch you." He gently rubbed her fingers in a circular motion.

Tessa's voice caught in her throat. She could only nod.

Mr. Herondale let go of her hands and took a running leap across the gap, soaring through the air. He landed on the fence with a clattering sound.

One of the vampires perked.

Mr. Herondale was hanging off the fence. The vampire edged closer, debating whether or not to go investigate. Sweat dropped down Tessa's forehead. She dug her fingers into her nightgown.

Then the vampire, having decided that the sound was just a pigeon, backed away. Tessa let go of a breath she did not know she was holding as Mr. Herondale pulled himself onto the fence. He turned to her with his arms outstretched; waiting.

Tessa gulped. She feinted a few jumps in order to familiarize herself with the action. Then, she walked back to the very edge of the building for the real one.

Tessa took a few deep breaths to calm her nerves and then took off sprinting. The wind thrashed against her body. There was so much perspiration on her that Tessa was beginning to feel cold. Reaching the edge of the roof, Tessa pushed off with her right foot.

For a moment, Tessa was completely weightless. She felt as birds must have when they sailed through the sky. Then gravity returned to the world.

She was quickly plummeting toward the ground. There he was, Mr. Herondale, waiting for her to fall into his arms. The distance between them was too great, she wouldn't make it. She would fall to the ground-

Mr. Herondale reached out his arms and grabbed Tessa as she slammed against the fence. She and Mr. Herondale were in an oddly intimate embrace, but Tessa was so glad to be alive that she forgot to feel flustered. A jolt of pain went through her nervous system as warm blood trickled down Tessa's leg.

Blood. Vampires were like sharks when it came to it. All four pair of eyes found the two and a cry of "Intruders!" rang out in the night.

Mr. Herondale and Tessa both leaped off the fence and into Baroness Belcourt's garden, and thanks to Ms. Lovelace's angelic blood, Tessa landed semi-gracefully.

Three vampires burst through the front gate, the fourth had presumably gone to get reinforcements. Tessa drew her seraph blade out of her coat, ready to fight.

"I see you're back for more, foolish nephilim," one of the three vampires snarled at Mr. Herondale, "Beautiful flowers will grow where your blood is spilled."

"What a lovely thing to say. You vamps always say just the loveliest things," Mr. Herondale retorted, drawing his sword from its sheath.

The vampire sprang forward, a blur. The man may have been fast, but Mr. Herondale was just as quick. He dodged and swiped the vampire across the back.

Another vampire tried to sneak behind Tessa and sink his teeth into her neck. Tessa moved with speed she didn't know she was capable of and elbowed him in the throat. Tessa spun and aimed the seraph blade for the vampire's heart, but he caught her hand. Knowing she could not defeat him in a test of strength, Tessa kicked the vampire's knee, sending him reeling back. Tessa plunged the blade into the astonished vampire's heart. The vampire reverted to ashes, leaving Tessa with the knowledge that she had just killed a man. Her head swam and stomach lurched with nausea.

"Ms. Gray! Find a way inside the house, quickly!" Mr. Herondale's voice brought her back to reality. Tessa returned her focus to the matter at hand.

Mr. Herondale was battling simultaneously with two vampires, expertly swinging his sword as to keep both occupied and away from Tessa. It was a bit entrancing to see, but Tessa had no time to marvel at a shadowhunter in his prime. Using her seraph blade, Tessa carved a hole into on of the manor's windows. She reached her hand through the hole and unlocked the latch, opening the window. Tessa climbed through.

"Mr. Herondale! Through here!" She called.

Mr. Herondale exchanged one last blow with the two vampires, and then he kicked them both to the ground. Swiftly, he sprinted across the garden and flew through the window. Then, the two pushed a table against the window to prevent their vampire foes from entering.

Mr. Herondale and Tessa both slumped against the wall, exhausted by the night's events. The two gave each other appreciative looks and breathed a lot easier than they had been.

"How interesting," remarked a silky voice. The hairs on the back of Tessa's neck stood up.


	8. The Sting oF Betrayal

Baroness Camille Belcourt was definitely a beautiful woman. Her long blond hair had been spun from gold and fell in cascades around her shoulders. She had clear, milky white skin and luminous green eyes that regarded them with interest. She held an oil lamp in her right hand that did a poor job of illuminating the entire room.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of having not one but two of the Nephilim trespass in my home?" Her voice betrayed no hint of malice or sympathy.

"Excuse us, Your Ladyship, but we had a  few questions to ask of you, and the four men outside your house didn't seem to keen on us being here," Mr. Herondale explained.

"Two Nephilim have broken into my home and now want to have a cup of tea with me. What an interesting night this is shaping up to be."

Tessa tried to make the situation seem less antagonistic, "Once again, we're terribly sorry-"

"Oh no, don't be. I would love to have a cup of tea with you two. I happen to know a few things I that the Nephilim may be interested in. In fact..." Lady Belcourt placed her lamp down, rang a dainty bell, and suddenly a sickly looking man was groveling at her feet, "Archer, could you bring us some tea?"

Archer quickly got to his feet and dashed out of the room. Lady Belcourt gestured toward her sofas. "Come, sit down."

Tessa felt a bit unnerved and looked to Mr. Herondale for reassurance, but he looked as perturbed as she felt. Nevertheless, the two did as they were asked.

"So, what can I do for the Enclave?" Lady Belcourt asked.

"Nothing much. We just want a few questions answered. Or, more specifically, we would like to know more about an apparent feud between you and Mr. de Quincey," said Mr. Herondale. A cloud passed over Baroness Belcourt's expression.

"Alexi de Quincey is a man that, once upon a time, I considered a friend. However, recent actions he has taken have made me reassess our relationship."

"So what precisely did he-"

"He had my werewolf lover, Ralf Scott, killed. That is all." Baroness Belcourt replied sharply. The entire room went silent for a moment. During that time, Baroness Belcourt's manservant brought them tea. Tessa was certain that she wouldn't have the stomach to even touch the drink.

"So what was it- what was it that you wanted to tell the Nephilim about?" Tessa finally asked. She had hoped to sound more confident, but were voice was barely audible.

"De Quincey may appear to be a well-behaved, Accords abiding vampire, but take heed. Every month, he holds balls at his home where he makes a show of killing mundanes by draining their blood."

"That's in direct violation of the Accords!" Mr. Herondale exclaimed, "For how long had this been happening?"

"For as long as de Quincey has been the leader of the London clan, I'd reckon."

Mr. Herondale stood up. "We must stop this immediately."

"The stars smile upon you tonight, young Nephilim. One such ball is in progress as we speak. I was invited, but I decided not to go due to my grudge against de Quincey."

"That's perfect! Ms. Gr- Lovelace and I can raid de Quincey's home and-"

"Forgive me for saying this, Mr. Herondale, but that is perhaps the worst plan you've ever concocted," Tessa said abruptly.

"Pardon me?"

"Firstly, despite how good a fighter you may be, the measly army of you and I cannot fight an entire ballroom's worth of people. Second of all, if we raid the ball without any substantial evidence of wrongdoing, de Quincey could easily plead not guilty. I could go on, Mr. Herondale. Do you want me to?"

Mr. Herondale gritted his teeth. "Well alright, Ms. Lovelace, master tactician. Do you have any alternative solutions?"

"In fact, I do," Tessa replied nonchalantly, "I could disguise myself as Baroness Belcourt and attend the ball. There, when I see the mundane being killed, I could Change into someone like Mrs. Branwell and arrest everyone at the party. If I face any resistance, you and a larger group of Nephilim can come storm the party."

"I don't like this idea," said Mr. Herondale. Tessa raised her eyebrows, "It puts you in far too much danger."

"Besides, how do you plan of disguising yourself. Downworlders can see through glamours," Baroness Belcourt added.

Tessa stood up and shed the skin of Jessamine Lovelace. As her body returned to its original state, Baroness Belcourt stared up at Tessa with amazement.

"Theresa Gray, the shapeshifter," she muttered in awe.

Tessa placed her chin in her hands, deep in thought. "Baroness Belcourt, is there any way for Mr. Herondale to come along with me?"

"Well, you could say that he's your human subjugate," Baroness Belcourt supplied, gesturing toward the man who brought them tea, "Though the timeline may seem a bit off, I am an old vampire. De Quincey would know better than question me and my powers."

"That only leaves a problem of reinforcements-"

There was a loud knock on the door. "Camille! Oh, dear Camille. Why haven't you come to my ball? It simply isn't the same without you!"

Baroness Belcourt sent one of her subjugated to deal with de Quincey. She looked to Tessa with an expression that said, you are ready either now or never. Sighing, Tessa followed Baroness Belcourt to her bedroom.

Changing into a vampire was much different from being Ms. Lovelace. As her hair turned golden and her features more acute, Tessa felt her heart stop beating. Tessa watched with numb horror as the blood stop pumping through her body, turning her skin as white as a sheet of paper. In a bout of near hysteria, Tessa clutched her heart and took shallow breaths, willing it to beat.

"There is no use in doing that, Ms. Gray. Your body no longer requires oxygen," said Baroness Belcourt, "Now straighten up, and stiffen that upper lip of yours. I will not have you disgrace me at the ball."

Tessa numbly nodded and walked out of the room.

The moment her eyes settled on the fair mane of Alexi de Quincey, a white-hot shock of fury coursed through her veins. Tessa struggled to keep Baroness Belcourt anger under wraps as she greeted de Quincey with a smile.

"Ah, Camille. You look wonderful on this beautiful night. I am so glad that you haven't let the murder of that disgusting mutt ruin our friendship," de Quincey said jovially.

Tessa forced a smile on her face. "Of course, my old friend. Forgive me, I wasn't thinking properly at the time."

"Have you dealt with your Nephilim intruders? I'm terribly sorry that the guards I had provided for you turned out to be so utterly incompetent."

The guards you placed outside my home to stop me from telling anyone your little secret, you mean. The voice of Baroness Belcourt grumbled.

"You'll be happy to know that I have, indeed dealt with them," Tessa pointed at Mr. Herondale with a wave of her hand, "I quickly disposed of the girl, but I thought that getting rid of the boy would be such a waste."

"I can see why you would think that. He's very beautiful." de Quincey held out his arm for Tessa to take, "Shall we?"

Tessa accepted his arm. "We shall."


	9. The Price of Blood

Alexi de Quincey's home was a massive estate. Everything there, from even the doors to the walls had been expertly crafted to be larger than life. There wasn't much beauty to it, just a lot of excess. It was the home of a man who wanted to flaunt his wealth and status.

The ballroom was illuminated by a series of several gas-lit chandeliers, ensuring that every crack in the room was bathed in light. Yellow wallpaper covered the walls, looking so golden that it reminded Tessa of decay. Near the back of the ballroom was an elevated stage with a few rows  
of chairs in front of it where an ensemble was playing music.

Milling around the room was what Tessa thought of as the entirety of London's Downworlder population. There were men and women who looked at the world through mismatched eyes and skin tinged with color. A man with horns poking out of his hair spoke gesticulating to another man out of who's back the wings of an angel sprouted. Several other pale skin individuals stalked about, accepting drinks from servants that Tessa knew from their smell and consistency were blood - mundane blood.

"Camille!" a man with bloodshot blue eyes and skin so pale it was green barked at Tessa, "How wonderful to see you here!"

Tessa smiled at him. "The pleasure is mine, Markus."

'Markus' looked to Mr. Herondale with amazement. "A Nephilim as your human subjugate? The Clave will be scandalized!"

"I suppose they will, won't they?" Tessa replied, nonplussed.

"Say, Camille, could I have a bite of him? I've always wondered what shadowhunter blood tastes like."

"Oh well..." Tessa fought to keep her nerves under control, while next to her Mr. Herondale seemed perfectly fine, "I've just turned him, you see. I'm not sure if-"

"Oh, come along, Camille. Don't be so greedy," a predatory glint came into his eyes, "Share."

Knowing that continuing to deny Markus would seem suspicious, Tessa caved in.

"Alright," she said, "you may have a little of his blood."

Before either of them could react, Markus grabbed Mr. Herondale's arm, pulled back the sleeves, and sank his teeth into the flesh. Mr. Herondale could not disguise the gasp of pain that escaped his throat. Markus looked concerned.

"He is your subjugate, is he not? Why is my drinking of his blood causing him pain?"

"Well its as I told you, Markus," Tessa said quickly, "I've just recently turned him, so he might  not-"

"Well then remedy that, why don't you? Give him a bit of your blood."

"I-" Tessa stole a glance at Mr. Herondale face to see how he felt. Mr. Herondale covertly gave her a reassuring look, "Of course."

Using her fangs, Tessa tore a hole into her skin and the blackened blood of the vampires dripped down. She lifted her arm up over Mr. Herondale's open mouth so that a few drops fell in before the wound healed itself.

"Well, there we are. All better," said Markus.

"I thank you for your help, old friend," Tessa said before walking away at a pace she hoped seemed natural. When they were sure that nobody would notice, the pair ducked away into a room.

"Mr. Herondale, are you alright?" Tessa whispered.

"Call me Will while we're here," Mr. Herondale said, "And yes, I'm fine. The damaging effects of vampire blood shouldn't appear for another while."

"Thank the Lord," Tessa murmured, "I'm so sorry, Mr. He- Will."

"Oh I know how terribly devastated yourself and everyone else back at the Institute would be by my death, Ms. Gray. But, right now, we have more pressing matters to attend to." 

"Such as?"

"Finding out if de Quincey is involved with the Pandemonium Club."  Tessa's eyebrows shot up.

 

"Is that so? Here I was under the impression that we were trying to catch Mr. de Quincey breaking laws. Besides, Will, it's highly unlikely that he is involved with the club. There cannot only be one nefarious group in the Downworld." 

"Ms. Gray we have no clue how large this Pandemonium Club is. For all we know, every Downworlder in London is a part of it. It's not as if I'm suggesting that we interrogate all of the attendants, just search this room." Taking Tessa's silence as agreement, Mr. Herondale turned away from her and started rummaging through the desk in the room. 

Tessa couldn't be sure what the room's intended purpose was. It had bookshelves and a desk like a study would, but it also had a settee and chairs meant for entertaining guests. It didn't make much sense for de Quincey's study to be an offshoot from his ballroom, so Tessa deduced that it was meant to be a drawing room. That mystery solved, she followed Mr. Herondale's lead and started looking through the shelves. It felt a bit invasive to look at his private records and books, but Tessa reminded herself that this man had been killing innocent men for years. There was no point in having empathy for such a vile person. 

"Aha!" Mr. Herondale exclaimed, causing Tessa to drop the book she was holding out of surprise. Out of the lowest drawer in the desk, Mr. Herondale produced a series of papers. She quickly picked the book back up and returned it to its place. 

"What did you find?" Tessa asked, walking over to Mr. Herondale. He showed her the papers. There were technical sketches all over them, they seemed to be blueprints of some sort.Despite her lack of knowledge in engineering, Tessa could tell that they were for humanoid machines - automatons. 

"Besides, Will, it's highly unlikely that he is involved with the club. There cannot only be one nefarious group in the Downworld," Mr. Herondale said mockingly, waving the papers in front of Tessa. She rolled her eyes. 

"Congratulations, Mr. Herondale, your assumption was correct. We've found the convincing evidence of a few drawings that connect Mr. de Quincey with the Pandemonium Club." 

"Do brighten up a bit, Ms. Gray. Or, perhaps, can you not accept that I was right?" 

"Human subjugates aren't supposed to talk so much," Tessa snapped, walking out of the room. Mr. Herondale, smirking, folded up the blueprints and followed her out. 

Outside, the ensemble had stopped playing. All of the attendants were congregating by the stage to some show, the curtains on the stage had been drawn. Tessa thought with a twist in her stomach that this show might be one of the blood draining displays that Baroness Belcourt had told them about. Seeing that she was one of the only people standing still, Tessa hastily made her way to the stage. Tessa and Mr. Herondale seated themselves in two unoccupied seats near the back as the lights dimmed.  

The curtains drew and Tessa's heart swallowed itself. 

He was someone even more haggard than he was when she had seen him before. The bags below his eyes were so thick they were causing his skin to droop. His unruly hair stuck out in several directions and a thick stubble had cropped up on his face. There was absolutely no muscle or fat on his bones, only skin that clung onto it tightly. One could see his ribcage through the paper thin shirt that covered his torso. His hands had been fastened onto the chair, the shackles so tight they dug into his skin. 

"That's him," Tessa whispered fiercely, "My brother, Nate Gray."

"Fantastic."

"We have to rescue him."

"How do you suggest we do that? We haven't any reinforcements. Do you expect to take on this entire ball yourself?"

"We would have reinforcements if you had just listened to what I'd originally suggested and returned to the Institute." 

"And you would have been alone in this building filled with dangerous people." 

"So? Your coming along did a fat lot of good."

"Your safety is important!" 

"To hell with my safety!" Tessa was getting more frustrated by the minute. People were already giving her contemptuous looks. She winced, knowing that there was only one thing she could say to convince him, "Will, Nate is to me what Mr. Carstairs is to you. What would you do to help Mr. Carstairs?" Mr. Herondale's face fell. 

"Anything. I would do anything for Jem..." 

"So please, help me save my brother." 

Tessa and Mr. Herondale rose from their seats, earning them a few more dirty looks. The two crept away from the seats and shuffled toward the stage in the shadows. De Quincey happily pranced onto the stage. 

"Ladies, gentlemen I bid you the most enthusiastic welcome! I would like to thank you all for attending my little soirée. It's time for the highlight of the night!" 

There was a loud round of applause. 

"This pathetic mundane here has become much too proud. It's time to remind him and all the filth like him where they belong!" de Quincey opened his maw, and razor tipped fangs slide out from behind his front two teeth. 

"No!" Tessa cried. Hundreds of pairs of eyes found her and Mr. Herondale standing by the stage. 

"Camille? What on earth are you doing?" de Quincey demanded, "Have you gotten soft? Why shouldn't we punish this fool?"

"Because - because..." Tessa stuttered, "Because I need him!" 

"Need him? Why would you need him?" said a shout from the audience. 

"I need him because-" 

"Camille! You're being ridiculous!" de Quincey yelled. He grabbed Tessa by the wrist and dragged her onto the stage so she could be seen clearly by everyone in the audience, "Would you all take a look at Camille?" Tessa wriggled in de Quincey's hands, but his grip did not weaken, "She's clearly hysteric. Her fling with that mongrel must have tainted her mind." 

"I'm perfectly sane!" Tessa shrieked. Her stalling may have delayed his demise, but Tessa could think of no way to save Nate. Out of the corner of her eye, Tessa saw Mr. Herondale standing rigidly, his deep blue eyes cold and calculating. "I simply wish to speak with the man, that's reasonable, is it not?" 

De Quincey narrowed his eyes. "I assure you that this thing knows nothing that I don't, Camille." He punctuated his statement by aiming a kick at Nate's chest. Nate sputtered. "You are a dear friend of mine, Camille, but if you continue to make a fool of yourself, I will have you removed from the premises. For your own sake, of course," he said the last part with a poisonous smile. 

"Still I-"

"Camille stop this nonsense!" de Quincey shouted, pushing Tessa away from him. Startled, Tessa fell backward onto the stage floor. A chorus of laughs erupted from the audience, along with shouts for the show to start already. Tessa's face burned red. 

De Quincey looked down at Tessa, a smirk playing on his face. "I think this has gone on for long enough, Camille. It's time for you to leave." He reached down to grab Tessa. 

Instinctively, Tessa's hands found their way around de Quincey's throat. He simply chuckled. "I would think that you've been a vampire long enough to know that we don't require oxygen, Camille." de Quincey pulled her up and smashed her against the wall, hard. 

Tessa's vision blurred, her mind dancing between conscious and unconsciousness.

"My lady!" Mr. Herondale yelled. He drew his sword and placed himself between de Quincey and Tessa. 

"How sweet," de Quincey snarled, "The servant is willing to die for his mistress." De Quincey made to swat him away, but the shadowhunter was faster, slicing his foe's hand off in a clean slice. 

"What is-?" de Quincey's words were stolen away by the arrival of a dozen shadowhunters. Tessa gasped when she saw the light flicker off a head of silvery hair. 

"Mr. Carstairs? How did you...?" Tessa mumbled. As Mr. Herondale engaged de Quincey in battle, Tessa leapt off the stage and ran toward Mr. Carstairs. "Mr. Carstairs! Are you alright?" 

"Ms. Gray? I-" a fey woman slammed herself into Mr. Carstairs', knocking the wind out of his chest. Tessa picked up a chair by her with strength she didn't know she possessed and hurled it at the fey woman, sending her flying. Mr. Carstairs pulled himself to his feet.

"Do you need any help?" 

"Though I appreciate the offer, Ms. Gray, I doubt my pride could take you rescuing me again."

A vampire stabbed his fangs into Mr. Carstairs' arm. Quicker than Tessa's eyes could follow, Mr. Carstairs' drew his concealed blade, spun around, and sliced through the vampire's chest. The vampire crumpled to the ground and disintegrated into ashes.

"Don't worry for me, Ms. Gray. Take care of yourself! Rescue your brother!" 

Tessa nodded and sprinted back toward the stage, dodging the brawling shadowhunters and Downworlders. Though the vampires were so fast they were a blur, the shadowhunters could match their speed. With their runes and enhanced abilities, the shadowhunters managed to even the odds with their foes. Tessa was almost upon the stage when she was knocked back by a furious de Quincey. 

"YOU!" he spat, "You brought them here! You will pay for your betrayal!"

"I wasn't done with you!" Mr. Herondale shouted, distracting de Quincey so Tessa could seize up a revolver that had been laying on the ground to defend herself. 

"Stay back! Don't come and inch closer!" she warned. Tessa didn't think that she looked very threatening, brandishing a gun with shaky hands. De Quincey definitely agreed. He stepped another foot closer to Tessa and she instinctively pulled the trigger. The bullet rocked de Quincey, but it didn't do as much harm as it did enrage him further. He riled himself up to attack. Tessa simply ran. 

De Quincey chased after her, but an idea was brewing in Tessa's mind. She galloped onto the stage, raised her gun into the air, and fired at the ceiling. The first shot cut through the material, and a weak sliver of sunlight trickled through the hole. Tessa emptied the chamber into the ceiling, until eventually enough cement had come loose for a sizeable hole to be in the ceiling. She moved out of the way as debris came crashing down. 

As the ballroom was bathed in the light of the rising sun, every vampire in the room froze. 

Tessa ran to Nate and put her head on his chest. She felt a slight heartbeat. He was alive. Behind her, Nephilim were arresting Accords breaking Downworlders, though Tessa noticed that a large amount of vampires were missing. She couldn't bring herself to wonder where they were. It was like a knot had come undone in her chest. Nate and Tessa were together once again. The shadowhunters had won the day.


	10. Brothers and Sisters

Nate lay on the Institute bed, his long eyes lashes curling in a way that reminded Tessa of when he was a young, fighting with the older boys in school. He may have been the older one, but it was Tessa who had always taken care of him, who always had to be mature and strong for him. What Tessa had done today was something she was expected to do, what she had always done for Nate. Perhaps Tessa should have been bitter, losing her childhood to give Nate his, but as she watched how peaceful his bruised face was, she could find no venom in her heart.

Do not worry for him, Ms. Gray, though his body is weary, he will awake once again. The serene voice of Brother Enoch wafted into Tessa's mind. Though she knew why Silent Brothers communicated in the way they did, that did not stop Tessa from being taken aback when she heard his voice once again.

"Do you know when he will awake, Brother Enoch?" Tessa inquired.

Unfortunately not, Ms. Gray. Though he should not be out for longer than two days. 

"Oh, I see," Tessa could not keep the disappointment out of her voice, "Thank you anyway, Brother Enoch." The Silent Brother bowed his head in farewell and soundlessly left the room.

"Do brighten up, Ms. Gray, at least he will wake. That's more than what I can say of Will on most days," Mr. Carstairs said cheerily, peeking out from behind the door.

"Mr. Carstairs! How wonderful it is to see you again!" Tessa proclaimed. Mr. Carstairs strolled into the room.

"Were you not expecting to see me again?"

"Oh no! Well, the attack you had yesterday did definitely frighten me. You were so well earlier that day... I've never seen someone's health deteriorate so quickly. It was terrifying!"

"I suppose so, since despite being trapped in the home of a vile man, I was the one whose health you were worried for," Mr. Carstairs said with a chuckle.

"Pardon me?"

"Did you know that my illness causes people to mistrust my abilities to fight as a shadowhunter?"

"That's terrible!"

"But perhaps they're correct. I've been saved twice by a woman who has never fought before in her life."

"I..."

"This is not your fault, Ms. Gray, it's mine for being a failure as a shadowhunter. The purpose of a shadowhunter is to fight and protect the innocents of the world if I cannot do that, what am I?" Mr. Carstairs gave Tessa a rue smile, "You should rest Ms. Gray. There is no need for you to watch over him as he sleeps." He walked away.

"Mr. Carstairs!" Tessa cried, standing up, but the gentleman had already left the room. When Tessa ran out into the hallway, he was nowhere to be seen either. Tessa set off trying to find Mr. Carstairs, but somewhere in the twisting and turning hallways, she lost herself. Disoriented, Tessa scrambled to find someone who could help her get back to Nate's room.

She was passing by a ladder leading up to the attic when Sophia spilled out of the trap-door. The bucket she was holding splashed water everywhere, soaking Sophia's clothes.

"Sophia, my goodness!" Tessa cried, "Are you alright?" Sophia grunted and pulled herself up, her face twisted in an expression of contempt.

"I'm quite alright Ms. Gray. I'm just wishing that the rules of my contract allowed me to do a bit more than speak however I want with a certain Welshman." Upon seeing Tessa's blank look, Sophia sighed, "Mr. Herondale. I'm referring to Mr. Herondale."

"Mr. Herondale? Why? What has he done now that's so impudent?"

"I'd been asked by Mrs. Branwell to bring this bucket of holy water to Mr. Herondale, and to ensure that he drinks it up. Instead of listening to Mrs. Branwell's direct orders, he throws the bucket back at me. It's's ridiculous!"

"Well, why does Mr. Herondale need the holy water?"

"It's to get the vampire blood he ingested out of his system. The holy water will make him cough it up."

"It sounds very painful. I can see why he wouldn't want to do it."

"The process is quite painful, but if he does not go through it, Mr. Herondale will turn into a darkling."

"My goodness! Then I suppose it is imperative that he drink it up."

"Yes, it is. But, Mr. Herondale has proven himself time and time again to not be a man of reason."

"Perhaps I would have more luck?"

"You? Pardon my saying this, but why on earth would you have more luck, Ms. Gray?"

"I don't know. But I can at least attempt to convince him, can I not?"

Sophia frowned. "I suppose you can, but do not be stricken when you're tumbling down the ladder, covered in water."

Tessa took the bucket from Sophia. "I won't." She gathered up her skirts and carefully ascended the ladder. The jostling water moistened her dress and threatened to weaken her grip on the bucket, but Tessa trudged onwards.

She emerged in a dim room with a sloped ceiling, littered by occasional pieces of aging furniture. The main component of the room was a large, triangular window. In front of it sat Mr. Herondale, his eyes narrowed in thought as his body was bathed in the dim morning's light.

"You're quite stubborn, Sophia, but you and I both have the knowledge that holy water will not pass my lips this day. Please leave," Mr. Herondale instructed without shifting his gaze from beyond the window.

"Actually, Mr. Herondale, it's me."

"I fail to see what difference that makes, Ms. Gray."

Tessa cleared the distance between the two and firmly planted herself onto the ground.

"The difference it makes is that I am not in Mrs. Branwell's employment, and can use whatever methods I deem necessary to send this water down your gullet."

"How frightening, Mrs. Gray. Have you always been such a frightening woman?" He was completely deadpan.

"Oh, you'll see just how frightening I can be if you don't drain this bucket." Tessa stamped her foot on the ground, sending bits of liquid flying everywhere. The water in the bucket was dwindling, much like Tessa's patience.

Of course, the brave and noble Mr. Herondale would not be swayed from his sacred duty of staring out of the window, and would not even spare a cursory glance to Tessa, much less a drink of water. Tessa sighed in frustration.

"I don't understand you, Mr. Herondale. Just a few hours ago you were throwing your safety to the winds for my sake, but now you won't even spare me a glance?"

At this, Mr. Herondale finally tore his eyes away from the window. "I wanted to help you because I understood your pain."

"I beg your pardon?"

"I don't remember much of my home in Wales, but I do remember my sisters. I could never forget them. I remember Cecily and-" Mr. Herondale's breath caught in his throat, "Ella... I loved them both so much. I would do anything to protect them." He furiously blinked away something glittering in his eyes.

Tessa found that she could no longer be angry at Mr. Herondale as he sat there pouring his heart out to her. She kneeled onto the ground to be level with him."Do you think that this is what they would want for you, Mr. Herondale? They'd want for you to become subject to some vampire's will?"

"No..." his voice was barely a croak. Mr. Herondale's body shook as he was overtaken by sobs.

"Mr. Herondale?" Tessa whispered meekly. Not knowing what else to do, Tessa pulled him into a warm embrace in an effort to comfort him. "It's alright, Mr. Herondale. I'm certain that they're as proud as can be of you. You're a great warrior, aren't you?" Tessa heard no answer between anguished weeping, but she kept talking. "Come on, Mr. Herondale, drink the water. It'll only be a momentary pain."

He numbly nodded. 

Tessa took water into her hands and poured it into his mouth, much you would for a child. Soon water and blood soaked them both, but Tesa did not mind. She softly spoke to Mr. Herondale to try and assuage the pain he was feeling. Before she realized it, the bucket was empty and his breath even.  She could not carry him down the stairs, so Tessa gently lay Mr. Herondale on the damp floorboards. In his sleep, Mr. Herondale looked like he was at peace with the world. Not wanting to disturb him, Tessa silently padded down the stairs to the attic. 

Tessa's feet led her to the room where Nate lay before she knew where she was headed. It was then that she saw that he had still not awakened, and a great uneasiness crept into Tessa's heart. Brother Enoch had assured her that Nate would awake, but the Silent Brothers' knowledge was not limitless. Their bewilderment on her origins had proven that. What if they were wrong? Had this had all been for naught? Tessa hugged herself tightly as if to stop herself from falling apart. She'd come so far, she could not break now. Staunchly, Tessa stationed herself at Nate's bedside, determined to be with him when he awoke, but her heavy eyes betrayed her. She was fast asleep not ten minutes after taking her seat.


	11. Dishonor and Disgrace

In the failing light of the sunset, sleep loosened its grip on Tessa. A quick glance upwards confirmed that Nate was still in the land of sleep. Groggily, Tessa pushed herself into a standing position. Dinner would be soon, and the household would be horrified to look upon Tessa as she was now. She sought out Sophia and asked her to draw a bath. 

Stripping off the gown, Tessa shuddered at the knowledge that she had worn it for so long. The gown was beautiful - once. It had been a long sleeved green silk gown with golden accents. All the heavy skirts collected together at her back to form a long train. Lady Belcourt must have looked radiant in it. Alas, now the magnificent train was in tatters, and after the ordeal with Mr. Herondale and the holy water, there were generous dollops of blood all over the front, too. Though she doubted that it would do much to restore it to its former glory, Tessa asked Sophia to have the gown washed and mended.

Tessa gently lowered herself into the bath. She had asked Sophia to make it blistering hot and was glad that the girl had listened. The intense heat and steam coming off the water relaxed Tessa in such a way that she had to fight to stop herself from falling asleep once again. Tessa scrubbed herself until her skin grew raw, determined to rid herself of the grime and gunk of de Quincey's estate.

Sophia helped Tessa into another borrowed dress from Ms. Lovelace and grimaced as the pale blue corset constricted her rib cage further and further. As Sophia brushed her hair, Tessa looked at herself in the mirror. This new dress had a neckline that was perhaps a bit more risqué than Tessa would have chosen for herself, and the creamy white lace that fell over her shoulders did nothing to prop the dress up. The skirt was the color of a lapis lazuli, with floral embellishments along every tier. It was quite exquisite - and heavy, of course - but Jessamine Lovelace didn't strike Tessa as the kind of woman who cared about the practicality of things. 

 

After brushing Tessa's hair so much that it shone, Sophia excused herself to go help Agatha with dinner, and Tessa was alone and idle once again. Tired of being inside the house, Tessa threw a feathered hat on her head and headed out. I'll just wander the grounds, she told herself, going too far away might be dangerous. Tessa recalled how some vampires had escaped the estate - god knows how, the sun was shining - and they probably weren't too pleased with her.

No sooner had Tessa stepped foot outside that a strange rustle snaked within the brambles, sending her mind whirling through grotesque possibilities. Don't be daft, she told herself, most likely, it's the groundskeeper wondering why you're such a dunce. Thrusting her head into the sky, Tessa strode into the garden, but all her bravado melted away when the rustling persisted. Tessa forced the words "Thomas? Is that you?" out of her throat, and was answered by silence. 

Now her fears didn't seem so foolish. But the vampires wouldn't be so foolish as to come up to the Institute itself, would they? It was the home of the Nephilim, after all. She said all these words to herself, but they did nothing to calm her racing heart. The crackling traveled through the bushes and seemed suddenly to surround Tessa. She spun on her heel, searching for a way to escape, but found none. When had she wandered so far into the grounds? 

Wretchedly, Tessa ravaged her clothing for some sort of weapon, even a spare pin, but to no avail. With no means of defending herself, Tessa saw no reason to put the confrontation off for any longer. She threw herself onto the ground and pronounced that she was "their's to do as they pleased to, lest any harm comes to the Institute and its people!" 

Tessa looked up to see the eyes of a squirrel looking down on her. 

Getting onto her knees, Tessa looked around to see that an assortment of confused woodland creatures had answered her passionate cry and felt quite ridiculous. Laughing, Tessa returned to her feet, but there was no point in doing so when the shadow pinned her back onto the grass. 

With a knife to her throat, Tessa's assailant grinned, revealing his fangs. On the last night, she would have been able to throw him across the grounds, but on the last night she was the fearsome Camille Belcourt, and now she was just Tessa Gray. Try as she might, Tessa could not quieten her mind enough to take the shape of Baroness Belcourt once again. "You're mine to do with as I please?" the vampire said, mimicking her voice, "My oh my, whatever shall I do first? Take a finger or a toe?" 

Tessa sucked in her breath, trying to flatten herself onto the ground, away from the knife. "No..." she gasped hoarsely. 

The man feigned hurt. "No? What reason could there possibly be for not torturing she who caused the death of the love of my life?" 

"That's so awful! Who killed her? I never wanted anyone to be harmed, all I wanted was my brothe-"

The man spat, all traces of playfulness gone. "Don't patronize me, you abomination. It was you and only you who dragged Camille Belcourt's honor through the mud!" 

At that, Tessa was speechless. "I don't understand-"

"You understand perfectly. During the show, you acted such a fool that every vampire in London now thinks Lady Belcourt a fool. Every vampire except me, of course. I know the truth. Most of the vampires fled quickly, but not me, never me. I couldn't believe what I'd seen of Her Ladyship, so I waited. Soon enough, the imposter shed the skin of Camille Belcourt and returned to its true form. You," he hissed the last word. The knife was now pressed so hard against Tessa's throat that it drew blood. Tessa furiously thought of a way out of this situation.

"I never wanted to tarnish the Baroness's reputation. All I wanted was for no harm to come to my brother - he was the man on the stage. I love him more than my life - just as much as you love Her Ladyship! Besides, she told me of the ball herself!"

He scowled and Tessa knew she'd misstepped. "Do you think me some foolish vigilante? I spoke with the Baroness herself before coming her to avenge her honor. She told me of how you and that Nephilim tyke, Herondale, killed her guard and tortured her for information with holy water. Don't you lie to me!" 

"No! That's not the truth-"

"Don't listen to her, Gregory," a man slipped out of the shadows, the same one who had served Tessa and Mr. Herondale tea during their meeting with Lady Belcourt, "She tells you lies. I heard Her Ladyship's wails as they thrust her hands into that accursed water, unable to do anything because she had forbidden me from intervening out of fear for my safety."

"That's not what!-" 

"Be quiet, wench!" Gregory yelled, now furious, "Perhaps we should cut out that slimy tongue of hers first, Archer," he moved the knife from Tessa's throat to the base of her lower lip, close enough that it pricked the skin and drew blood, "Or mayhaps the entire mouth..."

A silver hairbrush flew past the young vampire's head. Tessa took advantage of Gregory's moment of startlement by wrenching herself out of his grasp and crawling away. Every head in the garden turned to see where the hairbrush came from, a window from where Ms. Lovelace peered at them deploringly. 

"Could you not find a blade to hurl, Nephilim woman?" Gregory snarled. 

Ms. Lovelace scrunched up her nose in disgust of being called Nephilim. "I think you need a hairbrush much more than a blade, vampire. Do you live in a chimney? How did your hair become so unruly?" 

"This is not a matter of your concern," Archer called flatly. 

"That it may be, but a dead body would make for a terrible view in the morning. It would completely ruin my day," Tessa could not tell if Ms. Lovelace was jesting or sincere, and it worried her. 

"I spit on your day!" Gregory shouted. 

"Oh? What a pity," Ms. Lovelace grabbed her parasol and swung herself over the window with one hand. She landed onto the ground with such nonchalance that one would have thought that she was out on an evening stroll. That was when the two men became afraid. Many would have thought it ridiculous to be afraid of a young woman in a mauve dress armed with nothing but a parasol, but those two knew better. Even if there was not one rune on her skin, Jessamine Lovelace was still Nephilim. 

Ms. Lovelace unfurled her parasol and clicked some other mechanism that caused a great spike to poke out of its center, along with other razors along its edges. She brandished the parasol before in front of herself like it was a shield and gestured for Tessa to come to her side. Tessa did as she was asked. "Leave if you value your lives," Ms. Lovelace boomed. 

Gregory seemed as though he wanted to fight, but Archer put a hand on his arm. "No, child. Her Ladyship would not want for you to be killed for her sake." 

The vampire faltered, but he still shot Tessa a look that could cut hardened ice. "I will avenge Camille Belcourt's honor." With that, the two stalked off into the night. 

Tessa finally let out a breath she'd been holding in for an eternity. She turned to her savior. "Thank you so much, Ms. Lovelace."

"You owe me no thanks, Ms. Gray. That was child's play."

"Though, I do wonder, would you have truly slain those two if they resisted?" Tessa was very aware of the fact that Ms. Lovelace was currently holding a razor tipped parasol. 

Ms. Lovelace stiffened. "I couldn't tell you for true, Ms. Gray. I find that most men are too craven for fighting. The threat of violence is often more effective than the act, and good riddance for that!"

"Ms. Lovelace, why do you hold fighting and bloodshed in such contempt? It is not a pleasant thing, for true, but isn't it something woven into a Nephilim's life?" Tessa did not know where she was getting her bravery and hoped that it would stop before she wound up skewered on Ms. Lovelace's parasol. 

But all she did was sigh. "Come with me to my room, Ms. Gray. I want to show you something." 

Tessa was amazed by what she saw. The bed was draped by lush lilac sheets with a headboard exquisitely carved from white wood. To the bed's left, a Chinese screen covered what Tessa supposed was Ms. Lovelace's bathtub. In the center of the room was a rug with a coral border and a white center with floral detailing over it. There was an extravagant floor length mirror in front of the bed, next to which was a vanity. It was nestled in the corner between the mirror's wall and the pale pink curtained window's wall. The corner conjoining the window's wall and the headboard's wall housed a desk. On the table was a pastel dollhouse. 

Ms. Lovelace walked over to the desk, seated herself on the chair, and indicated that she wanted Tessa to sit on her bed. When Tessa had done what she'd asked of her, Ms. Lovelace turned to look at the dollhouse with far away eyes. When Tessa was beginning to grow antsy, Ms. Lovelace opened the house with trembling hands. 

"This is little Jessie," she said, barely loud enough for Tessa to hear, "She lives in this house on Curson Street with her mother, father, and baby brother. They lead normal, mundane lives. During the days, Jessie goes to school to learn how to be a lady and her father to work. Her mother stays at home to take care of her baby brother. Then, in the evening Jessie comes home, greets her mother, and plays with her baby brother. In the night, her father returns home, they have a lovely dinner, then Jessie goes to sleep and dreams beautiful dreams. That's the always is. Jessie's father never comes home with half the flesh on his arm cut off. No one ever needs to be given holy water to cough up vampire blood." Ms. Lovelace's hands balled into fists.

"But she couldn't be permitted to have that little, could she? No, her family had to all perish in a fire, leaving her with nothing but piles of useless money. Even after that, she couldn't be given any rest. The Nephilim found her!" Ms. Lovelace spat the word Nephilim like it was poison, "And of course no family in the London Enclave wanted to take her in! Send her over to the Institute, fourteen, familyless, and thrust into some strange new world. Then, they'll wonder why she refuses to fight with a blade, or learn some demonic tongue. She belongs with her governess, learning how to play the piano and working on her needlework. But forget about that! Who cares about what Jessie wants?!" Then she was silent once again. 

Both women were silent. Jessamine because she was lost in some thought of hers, and Tessa because she dared not speak. Then suddenly, Ms. Lovelace stood up. 

"Come, Ms. Gray. Dinner must be ready. We mustn't be late." she whispered.


	12. Rekindled

Dinner was a quick affair. Tessa hadn't realized how long it had been since she'd eaten and dined savagely. Mr. Herondale wasn't present, but that was to be expected. She tried to eat quickly as to avoid any unwanted conversation, but started to choke and had to slow down. Now with a full stomach, Tessa crawled into her bed to sleep, and after a little wait, it came. She slept fairly peacefully until Sophia shook her awake. Tessa was fairly befuddled when she arose, but when Sophia said "Your brother has awakened," all the sleepiness left her eyes. Without another word, Tessa threw the door open and raced down to Nate's room.

Mrs. Branwell stood facing Nate's bed. Her brother had been looking around confused, but upon spotting Tessa, his face broke into a relieved smile. Seeing his familiar face was too much for Tessa. She threw herself into his arms and wailed like she'd wanted to for so long, a wail that turned into a sob. Nate held her tightly as she sobbed in his arms, then wiped the tears from her eyes when she pulled away. " It's all over now," he murmured, "We're safe now." Tessa hadn't dared believe it when they brought Nate back from de Quincey's manor, but it was true, wasn't it? They truly were safe. She was so happy she wanted to cry once more, but Tessa composed herself. Sobbing like that had only made her seem meek in front on Mrs. Branwell.

With as much dignity as she could muster, Tessa stepped away from Nate's bedside so Mrs. Branwell could question him as she had surely hoped to. It was unlikely that he knew much of anything of use. Though Tessa loved her brother, even she had to admit that he was prone to... folly, and not someone to be trusted with important information. Thankfully, Mrs. Branwell only had one question for Nate. "You have been through much, Mr. Gray, so I will not keep you for long. Is Alexi de Quincey the Magister?"

"Yes," Nate replied, lip trembling, "de Quincey is the Magister." 

"Excellent. We discovered the ashes of many vampires, but not as many as we had expected to. Why is that?"

"They must have escaped. De Quincey had several passageways built into his home. I'm sorry, I can't tell you where they are or where they lead to."

"Of course," Mrs. Branwell hissed under her breath. She turned back to Nate. "Thank you for that, Mr. Gray. When we have de Quincey and his underlings under our custody, you and your sister will be free to leave." Nodding, Mrs. Branwell left the room.

"Did you hear that?" Nate demanded, gleeful as a boy on Christmas Day. "We'll be free to leave! My house doesn't look like much compared to the Institute, but it is a home. I make enough for both of us at Mortmain's, so you won't have to work at that awful mill. You could stay at home and read books. You could write books too, you'll have so much time on your hands. You could write about yourself. You were just like a hero from a story at de Quincey's manor, Tess. You saved me!"

Tessa laughed. "Don't be ridiculous, Nate. All I did was distract the vampires for a bit. If the Nephilim hadn't appeared when they did, we would both be in trouble." That had been dancing inside of Tessa's mind ever since that night. Why had the Nephilim appear when they did? She had meant to send Mr. Herondale to bring in reinforcements, but he had refused to go. How had they known to come?

Pushing those thoughts out of her head, Tessa asked Sophia to bring Nate some dinner. Despite Nate's protests, Tessa insisted on feeding him. When he had eaten every last bite, Tessa made him take a bath. Bathed and groomed, Nate once again looked like the boy who made girls' hearts flutter when he went by.

Satisfied with his recovery, Tessa left Nate to his own devices and set off wandering through the Institute. The mystery of how the Nephilim had come to their rescue still plagued her and refused to leave. She was still mulling over the facts of how they did it when a violin drew her to Mr. Carstairs' room.

Standing outside his door, Tessa couldn't think of what she'd say to him. She knew that there was something that she wished to say to him, but how? "You aren't a liability, despite that being all people around you seem to say?" Or, even better, "I'm dreadfully sorry that you're dying." Tessa was spared from thinking of what to say when Mr. Carstairs swung the door open. "May I help you?" he asked, courteous as ever.

"I was hoping you could help me search the library to find a book to read." 

"Will's the one you should go to for literary help."

"But, I've come to you."

"That you have," Mr. Carstairs held his arm out to her, "Come, then. I'll show you some of my favorites." 

Mr. Carstairs indicated to her that there were a few books she'd appreciate in the upper shelves. Tessa excitedly grabbed the ladder and clambered up, she swiped the book out of the shelf and waved it at him. On the way down, she slipped and thought that'd be the end of it, but Mr. Carstairs broke her fall. Her breath caught in her throat when their eyes met. Mr. Carstairs smiled, but his eyes didn't. His grey eyes had a lingering sadness in them. 

Tessa stepped away from Mr. Carstairs to hid the redness in her face, only to knock the ladder into the bookshelves and send dozens of books tumbling down. Mortified, Tessa tried to gather all the book quickly, yet kept dropping them. Eventually, Mr. Carstairs had to come help her round them up. The two of them returned all the books to their rightful place, every single one. Laughing, Mr. Carstairs ascended the stairs to find Tessa's book gave it to her. It was a beautiful copy of A Tale of Two Cities. "Have you read it before?" Tessa asked him. 

"Yes, I think you'll enjoy it. Will thinks the story, especially Sydney Carton, is silly. He thinks that the idea of loving someone so much that you'd die for them is an asinine sentiment. I think he hates it because Carton reminds him of himself."  

"Mr. Herondale is Sydney Carton?" Tessa said thoughtfully, "I'm not sure that I see it."

"Read it again, Ms. Gray. I'm sure you will. I'll take my leave, now." He left.


	13. Preparations

Dawn had turned the horizon a crisp gold when Mr. Herondale came to get her. Tessa had been reading for hours by then. At some point, she'd had started humming to herself a song she'd thought she'd long forgotten, sung to her on cold nights by a woman long dead. She had finished the book a few minutes ago. Now she was staring at Sydney Carton's last words as if doing so for long enough would make it reveal its secrets to her. Now that she'd read it again, Tessa could see his resemblance to Mr. Herondale, but she wondered who would be his Lucie Manette. She wondered if fate would ever give Mr. Herondale a Lucie Manette. 

"Ms. Gray?" Mr. Herondale called, breaking Tessa out of her thoughts. "Charlotte is sending a patrol out to find the passageways in de Quincey's manor. She would like to know if you want to come along."

"Yes," Tessa replied, standing up, "I would love to." 

The sun was warm in the sky, thus Mr. Herondale had deemed it suitable to throw the curtains open, but soon, cold wind slid up Tessa's bodice like frozen fingers. The two men hardly seemed to feel it, so Tessa decided to leave the carriage windows are they were. As the carriage trudged through London's narrow streets, its occupants sat in silence. However, it was a good silence, one that felt more a glittering summer day than a dreary winter's night. Mr. Herondale and Mr. Carstairs never spoke, yet seemed to communicate in their own way. When Mr. Herondale wished to rest his eyes, Mr. Carstairs knew to draw the curtains closed as to shade him from the sun's glare. 

De Quincey's garish manor peaked through the stunted wooden hovels. Mr. Carstairs whispered something to Mr. Herondale that made him break into a boyish grin. He has dimples when he smiles,  Tessa noted, and his eyes gain a certain lively radiance. A few of his teeth were chipped, but that did not stop his smile from being entrancing. Tessa shook her head. She was heading into the home of a madman in search of secret passageways, yet all she could think of was how handsome Mr. Herondale looked when he smiled. 

A smattering of Nephilim were already inside of the manor, inspecting every nook and cranny to find the passageways. Some threw Tessa contemptuous looks, but Mr. Herondale and Mr. Carstairs drew around her in a protective circle to dissuade them. Tessa felt a rush of admiration for the both of them.  A woman with ashen blonde hair in dark man's clothing sashayed up to them.  Unlike evey other shadowhunter, she smiled at Tessa. "You must be Ms. Theresa Gray!" she announced. "You've become quite noteworthy in a very short time, Ms. Gray. Not all that is said of you paints you in a reputable light, but that is the very nature of fame, is it not? Rest assured, you are not likely to be lost to the flood of time. It is said that your... abilities are peerless." 

"It is kind of you to say so," Tessa replied, carefully taking note of what she said of her reputablity. The woman struck herself in her face.

"How could I be so silly? I've forgotten that Ms. Gray and I haven't been introduced!" she held out her hand. "I am Ms. Margaret Keeley!"

"Do stop speaking soon, Greta. Your voice is reminescent of a wailing cat, left out on a cold day," Mr. Herondale said. Tessa was horrified, but the other woman only smiled wider. 

"You are quite well aquainted with the wailing of cats, aren't you Will? They must all scream and flee when you come by. They say that cats can sense the rot in human souls." 

"How strange. I was under the impression that we are to search this building for passageways, but it appears we are in truth to come up with clever japes," Mr. Carstairs chastized. 

"We are to do both, in actuality," Mr. Herondale explained, "Charlotte said so herself. You must have been late when she was briefing." Mr. Carstairs rolled his eyes. At least Ms. Keeley had the grace to redden. 

"My deepest apologies, Jem, Ms. Gray. It seems you've been forced to entertain a child. I'll take rid you of him."  She grabbed Mr. Herondale by his collar and dragged him away. Tessa turned to Mr. Carstairs and raised an eyebrow. 

"Greta is vastly vivacious, but she has a good heart. She was one of the only other children who wasn't beastly to Will when he first came to the Institute," Mr. Carstairs said.

"Why were people beastly to Mr. Herondale?" Tessa asked, but Mr. Carstairs was already walking away. He fidled with a lion's head bust and scoured through a bookshelf. "What are you doing, Mr. Carstairs?" Mr. Carstairs put down the paper weight he was holding.

"I was hoping to set off a secret door..." he replied, looking away sheepishly, "This is usually how people find them in books. I'm afraid that I have no other outlet to find them. Secret passageways aren't a shadowhunters specialty, I'm afraid."

"Well, if there is a secret room behind a wall, then it would be hollow, wouldn't it?" 

"When we do find this secret room, how do we get to it?"

"By breaking down the panels, I would imagine." 

Mr. Carstairs rubbed his nose. "You're absolutely right." He set off to work, knocking on the walls. Tessa did so with him. Nephilim near them were a bit confused, but when Ms. Keeley saw what they were doing, she started knocking  on the walls, too, no questions asked. Mr. Herondale was less receptive to their actions. 

"Does someone like on the other side of that wall?" he asked incerdulously, "He must be an enchanting man, for all three of you to be so eager to meet him."  Ms. Keeley's knock on a panel near the fireplace ran hollow. Tessa and Mr. Carstairs immediatley stopped their knocking and rushed to be by her side. 

"Did I do something?" Ms. Keeley asked, confounded. Tessa nodded to Mr. Carstairs, and he drew his sword out of it's scabbard and sliced through the wall as though it was made of butter. 

"By the Angel, Jem. Who is this man?" Mr. Herondale cried. Now, even more people were leering at them. Mr. Carstairs scraped away all the wood to reveal a long corridor heading further and further away. 

"His name is Alexei de Quincey," Mr. Carstairs replied, "He's not very enchanting, but I am still very eager to meet him." 

A few Nephilim scouts were sent off to see where the passageway lead. It emptied out into Chelsea, where a few other tunnels flew off into the four corners of the world. Instead of sending scouts through every single one, Charlotte asked Nate if de Quincey had any hideouts in Chelsea. Nate confirmed their suspicions, and the Enclave formed a plan to hunt him down. Every member of the London Enclave - who were all Nephilim above age 18 - was to surround his hideout. Mrs. Branwell was to go in with the Inquisitor Whitelaw, an older man with a stern face, were then to go in the building and ask the man to confess to his crimes. If he resisted, Nephilim would sweep into the building and quickly, efficiently, take every vampire there under arrest. 

It 's a good plan, Tessa told herself,  it will not go wrong. But no matter how much she said them, the words would not feel real.


	14. The Hands is Death

Mr. and Mrs. Branwell changed into identical dark leather clothes - fighting gear, as Mr. Carstairs called it - and armored themselves with blades. Mr. Herondale wasn't pleased about being left out of the operation. 

"What difference does a mere year make?" Mr. Herondale argued, "I would be of  more use to you at de Quincey's hideout than hidden away in the Institute."

"It is not a matter of where you would be more of use to me," Mrs. Branwell said firmly, "You are not of age, and we cannot leave the Institute undefended. You must stay here." Mrs. Branwell allowed no more discourse. She gave Mr. Herondale, Mr. Carstairs, and Ms. Lovelace strict instructions to guard the Institute. Somehow, she managed to coax even Ms. Lovelace into gear, though she insisted on wearing a dark rolled up skirt over her trousers. Mr. Carstairs assured Ms. Lovelace that it was fairly unlikely for anyone to attack the Institute and that she would only have to "suffer looking like a shadowhunter" for a few hours. Begrudgingly, Ms. Lovelace complied. She sat at the dining table with her parasol propped up next to her, knitting away. Mr. Carstairs entertained himself with his violin, while Mr. Herondale restlessly prowled the corridors. 

 

"Tess?" Nate snuck up behind her, face covered in disquiet, "Tessie? I must speak to you. In private." Confused, Tessa followed him upstairs, away from the Nephilim. He anxiously looked around before speaking once again. "You are not safe here."

"Why?" As far as Tessa knew, the Institute was the safest place in London. 

"These shadowhunters... they aren't what you think they are. There is no love in a shadowhunter's heart for a Downworlder. When you are no longer of use to them they'll... they'll do horrific things to you, Tessie. Unspeakable things. Dr. Mortmain showed me the spoils..." 

"Dr. Mortmain? Is that not the man you were under the employment of? Why would he know of shadowhunters and the Downworld?" 

"Listen, Tess, I lied to the Nephilim woman. De Quincey is not the Magister." 

Tessa was spared trying to respond to that by the Institute's door bursting open. 

A female automaton with grotesque angel wings and vivid blue hair opened the doors using the hands of a deceased shadowhunter from de Quincey's party. She was closely followed by a short middle-aged man with graying sideburns and lifeless gray eyes. Mr. Herondale and Mr. Carstairs sprung into action in time with one another, while Ms. Lovelace just stared at the scene before her, gasping like a beached fish. Though Mr. Herondale and Mr. Carstairs fought well, they were soon overcome by the sheer amount of automatons flooding into the Institute. Tessa urged Nate to run, but he refused to move. "Magister!" he cried, "Dr. Mortmain!" 

"He's the Magister?" Tessa demanded, "Why did you lie for him 

"Yes," Nate licked his lips,  "He said that he would protect you from the shadowhunters." 

"And you believed him?!" 

"You're always saving me, Tessie. For once, I wanted to save you..."

"Nate, what have you done?" 

Downstairs, Mr. Herondale and Mr. Carstairs fought in harmony, but Tessa was surprised by Ms. Lovelace's facility as a fighter. It was not so much that she was skilled, but that she fought like a demonic force, with rage so pure that Tessa couldn't help but wince. But even that was not enough. Mr. Herondale suffered a stab in his abdomen and collapsed, which Mr. Carstairs felt, too, and fell with him. An automaton blindsided Ms. Lovelace and hit her over the head. She fell, groaning. 

Dr. Mortmain turned his gray eyes to her and Nate at the top of the staircase. "Nathaniel. Ms. Gray.It is so good to finally make your acquaintance." 

Tessa took a shuddering breath. "What do you want from me?" She knew that he didn't want to simply protect her.

"All I want from you is your help, Ms. Gray. It is not so much, don't you agree?" Dr. Mortmain replied, not trying to keep up the pretence.  She was going to say it was, but then bit back that response. If she didn't go willingly, Dr. Mortmain would just take her by force. No matter what she said, the outcome would be the same. She put an arm around Nate and steered him slowly down the stairs. At the foot of the stairs, Tessa saw Ms. Lovelace on the floor moaning in pain. She saw Mr. Carstairs and Mr. Herondale laying on the floor tangled together. Behind her, Thomas and Agatha were covering in fear, Sophia trying to be strong and comfort them. Why should they all die for Tessa? 

"It is not too much to ask for, Dr. Mortmain," Tessa responded, her voice choked, "All I want in exchange is that no harm come to another shadowhunter."  

"No!" Mr. Carstairs cried, writhing on the floor. He tried to crawl across the floor to her, but an automaton beat him away. Mr. Herondale lay on the floor limp with pain, his face white. No words left his mouth, but his eyes were pleading. Tessa tore her gaze away from his. She had to be strong. 

"I can grant you that," Dr. Mortmain said gravely. 

"Thank you for your kindness, Mr. Carstairs. Thank you for your japes and bravery, Mr. Herondale. Ms. Lovelace, I thank you for your boldness. Thank you Sophia, Thomas, and Agatha for caring for me. Please tell Mr. and Mrs. Branwell for taking me in. Thank you all for saving me." She wanted  to say more, so much more, but she had not the words. Instead, she lead Nate to the Institute's entrance, but was stopped by an automaton before she could leave the Institute. 

"I do not trust the shadowhunters to keep well away," Dr. Mortmain nodded to where Ms. Lovelace lay, "It is best if we take a some insurance." The automatons surrounding Ms. Lovelace picked her up and carried her away. 

"No, you don't need to do that!" Tessa protested, "They will stay away, they will!" She frantically looked to Mr. Carstairs and Mr. Herondale, but they were of no help. Tessa wanted to fight, but the automatons took her, too, and carried her away. At some point, she lost sight of where Nate and Ms. Lovelace were, and then she lost herself to the darknesss, too.


	15. Council Meeting

Charlotte had called for an urgent meeting, yet still, the graybeards who were somehow important in the Enclave took a week to arrive in London. They pooled into the council chamber so slowly that it was a wonder that they weren't leaving alone trails wherever they went. Not that it bothered Will, of course. The council meeting would end reaching no agreement, as these things always bloody did, and afterward it would be like the meeting never occurred in the first place.

Will and Jem were still seventeen, so they weren't allowed to attend the meeting. Jem accepted that with grace. Will, not so much. He couldn't understand why they weren't allowed to attend, they were there when Mortmain took Ms. Gray, her brother, and Jessamine, but the higher-ups at the Clave had always put tradition before, well, logic. Any and all Nephilim below the age of eighteen are children, and children do not have the sufficient maturity to have any say in matters of the state, as though upon reaching the age of eighteen you were magically imparted with worldly wisdom. Will had half a mind to leap off the rafters where he hide, walk up to Consul Wayland and tell him, straight and true, that Jem had more maturity as a 'child' then he would ever in his adult shadowhunter life. How lovely it would be to see him purple and sputter on about conduct! However, the aftermath of that action would be a trifle less lovely, and Charlotte was always telling him to "think more before [he] [did] something, because [she] [was] at [her] wits end with [him]." He would have done it anyway, but Charlotte was already very bedraggled and Will did not want to add himself to her pantheon of problems. So, he stayed quiet and remained in the rafters.

At last, the steady flood of Nephilim walking into the council chamber lessened to a mere trickle, then stopped altogether. Two burly shadowhunters latched the door shut to keep away wandering mundanes. Consul Wayland ascended the stage to address the crowd of solemn Nephilim, impressive with his broad shoulders, thick neck, and long blond hair. From that crowd, Will could easily pick out Henry from his shock of red hair, and then Charlotte next to him, pale-faced. For a moment they were the only youthful bodies in a sea of crumbling old men, but then a women's ashen blonde tresses caught his eye from the far side of the room. Margaret Keeley, attending a council meeting. It shouldn't have shocked him as it did, she was a year older than him, Will knew that, but her mischievous smile and defined, puckish face did not belong in such a dull place.

The Consul was definitely talking, Will knew. Talking and talking and lording his high stature over the rest of the mere mortals that lay at his feet. A shadowhunter and important Downworlder have been abducted, he said, this was a matter of utmost urgency, but of course not so much urgency that any haste would have to be made. "Mortmain has taken Jessamine Lovelace," a member cried, "one of our own! We must save her!"

"No!" cried a dissenting voice, "Her family cast aside the gifts of the Angel to live their lives as pitiful mundanes, and she means to do the same. We must save Theresa Gray!"

"Yes!" Someone agreed, "Theresa Gray is the key to all this."

"You mean to throw away the life of a shadowhunter for that of a Downworlder?!" Called a scandalized voice, "Blasphemy! We must care for our own." A hundred voices cried out in agreement, and a hundred others in dissent. Soon enough, the entire council chamber was awash in the sound of argument. Will had to hand it to Mortmain. Despite how despicable he was, he did not lack for wits. There was a man who knew shadowhunters! He must have predicted that this would be the result the moment he took Jessamine. It was deftly done.

Sitting in the middle of all the chaos, Charlotte was whiter than milk. Henry put a comforting arm around her, and she allowed herself to lean into his touch. Will felt a pang of pity for her. He knew how difficult this was for her. On one hand, she'd met Ms. Gray and seen how valuable she was, and how kind and brave she was, but Charlotte had known Jessamine since she was a scared girl of fourteen. Charlotte had taken her in when no other member of the Enclave would, and raised her as she would her own daughter. For three years, she had weathered Jessamine's tantrums, comforted her when she cried and tried to guide her towards being, perhaps not a good shadowhunter, but a good person. In spite of how unloveable Jessamine had tried to make herself, Charlotte had found a place in her heart for her. If doing so made her weak, then Will cared not for what strength was.

Consul Wayland called for silence, and after a few attempts, he received an uneasy one. He shifted the focus of discussion away from Ms. Gray and Jessamine to the matter of the Institute's defenses, where some ground could be made. A good five minutes were spent berating the faults of "weak leadership" as Charlotte's hands curled into ever tighter fists and the blood in Will's head boiled. Inquisitor Whitelaw stepped onto the stage, a severe man with graying brown hair and a clean-shaven face. He was not a man of good humor, but he took his position seriously and did his job well, which Will could find a begrudging respect for. He lightly questioned Henry on his findings regarding the automatons that had attacked the Institute, then nodded gravely at his response.

"The automatons are truly an awful wonder," Whitelaw stated, "a force with no hearts that beat or souls to tell them right from wrong. They will fight until their broken bodies can no longer carry their weight." A stunned silence spread over the council. Will's heart was swallowed by a pit of terror. How does one fight a relentless force? What was training when exhaustion seeped into your bones?

"It seems clear to me," Wayland said unperturbed, "that the Institute's staff needs to be punished. They all stood idly by as Ms. Gray and Ms. Lovelace were taken away."

"What more would you ask of them?" Charlotte demanded, "They are mundanes! Their job S were to cook, clean, and drive carriages, not battle infernal devices!"

"Not just the mundane servants, even three shadowhunters let Mortmain walk away with everything he wanted," a proud voice announced, a slug in man's clothing who called himself Benedict Lightwood. He stood up and regarded the room, dark eyes in a sharp, bony face. "If it were up to me, all three of them would be stripped of their marks for their failures."

"In that case, let us thank the Angel that it is not, Mr. Lightwood," Charlotte replied sharply, "William, James, and Jessamine are children who have not completed their training and were faced against a force that makes grown shadowhunters quail. You cannot truly have expected them to make short work of their opponent. No, the blame for this lies squarely on my shoulders, and I accept it."

"That is all fine and good, Mrs. Branwell, but you too agree that some measures should be taken to ensure that a catastrophe of this scale does not occur again?"

Charlotte narrowed her eyes. "If you mean to say that the Institute's mundane staff should be trained in self-defense, then yes, I do agree."

"Fantastic!" Lightwood jumped in, "I have two sons who could do just that!"

"Then it's settled," Wayland said, "Gabriel and Gideon Lightwood will arrive at the London Institute tomorrow to begin training the Institute's staff." Will bit back a groan. Gideon and Gabriel Lightwood hated no man more than him. To be sure, he had earned their hatred when he humiliated their sister, Tatiana, but he had been twelve at the time. Only Lightwoods could carry grudges over childhood love for five years.

"Regarding Ms. Lovelace and Ms. Gray," Wayland went on, "the only real solution that we can find to this problem which would return both girls to us alive is diplomatic."

"How are we to speak to Mortmain when we haven't a clue where he is?" Inquisitor Whitelaw asked.

"That is where Mrs. Branwell here steps in. I am charging her with the responsibility of finding Mortmain."

"I will not fail you," Charlotte promised.

"I do dearly hope so. If Mortmain's whereabouts are not revealed to us in a fortnight, we may have to hand things off to someone more... capable."

"I understand."

"Good. This meeting is over." Every person in the room seemed visibly relieved when he said those words. Shadowhunters stood up and started leaving. Will stayed behind as to not be noticed by a wary-eyed council member. He watched as the chamber slowly emptied out. Soon, the only person who remained was Greta. She looked around for a moment, then moved her gaze upwards and smiled, mischief glinting in her eyes.

"That's a fine hiding place you've found, dear Will, but not good enough." Will groaned, pushed himself off the rafters and landed rolling to Greta's mock applause. Her high cheekboned face looked so puckish that Will found himself giving credence to the rumors that her mother was one of the Fair Folk.

"How did you know I was there?" Will asked, dusting off his coat.

"These council meetings are so dreadfully tedious, one finds herself developing a wary eye."

"Then you mustn't have been the only one to see me."

"That is true," Greta twirled her heavy feather hats then spun around, the rubies on her deep green dress glinting in the sun's beams. Will thought that she was the only Nephilim girl he knew that was at ease in a dress and in gear. She could rival Jessamine with her love for big impractical gowns, but that was where the resemblance ended. Where Jessamine was skinny and dainty, Greta was powerfully built, with slim, supple muscles.

She stopped spinning. "It seems to me that you find yourself in quite the predicament, dear Will. You wish to help find Mortmain, but cannot in a way that doesn't involve seriously injuring someone."

"You wrong me, Greta. I am not some thoughtless brute!"

"Truly? This will be news to the entire Enclave."

"Do stop being facetious."

"Oh, dear me. Have I offended you? That was not my intention. Rest assured, Will. Mrs. Branwell will not be able to find Mortmain with or without your help. Or, at least, she will not be able to find him before the Enclave decides which girl's life they value more."

"Who's side do you think they'll come down on?"

"Not even I know that Will, but I do know the Downworld. I know that some Downworlders believe that the shadowhunters only thought that de Quincey was the Magister because he was a Downworlder. I know that they are suspicious of the Nephilim. And I know that Theresa Gray's death would be the last straw." Greta placed her hat back on her head and left the council chamber. Will stood in a stunned silence for a few moments, then the realization that he had no form of transportation to return to the Institute struck him and he began running. He clambered up a column and swung himself over the walls, landing in front of Charlotte and Henry.

Charlotte scowled. "I take it that you were listening in on the meeting?"

"You are so very perceptive." She angrily shook her head and thundered past him with Henry right next to her. Will quickly followed after her. "Why did you take the blame for Ms. Gray and Jessamine being captured? It was Jem and my fault, there's nothing you could have done."

"There are a hundred million things I could have done. I could have positioned more defenders around the Institute. I could have noticed that Mr. Gray was lying. If the problem was your and James' skills, I should have done a better job at training you two. A leader must take the blame for whatever those who they lead do. Trying to shrink the blame will only make you look weak."

"But now you have only a fortnight to find Mortmain before they take the Institute away from you!"

"What would you have me do? Beg them to give me more time? No, that would make me look weak. I must produce results."

"So that's it? You'll allow yourself to be pushed around by Josiah Wayland and Benedict Lightwood?" They came to a stop before the Institute's carriage. Henry climbed in and helped Charlotte in. Will didn't get in, still waiting for an answer.

"If that is how you see it, you have a great deal to learn. Yes, William, I am going to do my duty as leader of the London Enclave. Are you going to get in the carriage?" Will grimaced and clambered into the carriage.


	16. The Protector

Will awoke in a puddle of sunlight, knowing that he had overslept. Groaning, he pulled off the covers and dressed on autopilot. He ambled out the room and down the stairs, looking for Jem. He was vaguely aware that he looked half a dead man, so he knew that being seen like this wouldn't be good for his 'reputation'. It didn't help that Charlotte was speaking to Gideon and Gabriel Lightwood when Will walked into the dining hall.

Gabriel regarded him with a mix of dislike and revulsion, which was expected, but Gideon, on the other hand, walked up to Will and extended his hand to him. "Mr. Herondale. How are you this fine morning?"

Will blinked. He couldn't have heard that correctly. Both his ears and eyes were conspiring against him. Gideon Lightwood, who had been sour to the point of acidic toward Will, had just offered him his hand and asked him how he was. "Pardon me?"

"I asked you how you were, Mr. Herondale. Will you be shaking my hand anytime soon?"

Will wearily clasped his hand and shook it. "I have heard that terrible cases of Bronchitis can induce hallucinations, but I'd have thought that if I was so ill, I would have noticed."

Mr. Lightwood laughed. "You are not hallucinating, my friend. I, Gideon Lightwood, am truly extending an olive branch to you. It was cruel what you did to my sister when we were children, that much is true. However, we are no longer children, and Tatiana is married to a good man. I see no reason for hostilities between us to continue."

'Stranger things have happened, I suppose,' Will thought as the older Lightwood walked away, but not by much. Unlike his brother, Gabriel stomped up to Will, livid. "Just because my brother had forgotten how you disgraced my sister does not mean I have, Herondale." With that, he turned away from Will and followed his brother up the grand staircase to the training. At least some things will never change.

He turned to Charlotte. "Where is Jem? I was told that he was some papers regarding Mortmain up from the Silent City? Dare I say that I missed it?"

"Oh, no," Henry appeared from his crypt, "you're right on time. Here he comes."

Jem dropped a massive stack of papers onto the dining table. The papers spread on the table at the force. Will spotted articles from the newspaper, cargo reports, everything in the Silent City containing a reference to Axel Mortmain. Looking at the hundreds of documents, Will internally groaned. How could the Wayland expect them to sort through so many papers in a mere fortnight? 'He doesn't. This entire assignment is a farce. Wayland means for Charlotte to lose the Institute, that bastard.'

Grumbling, Will grabbed a paper out of the pile at random. It was an article telling of Mortmain Industries shift from trading to mechanics. Nothing else could be parsed from the text. He sighed and reached for another paper.

"Why so glum, Will?" Jem teased, "You love to read. I would have thought that this task would have overjoyed you."

"You had once thought that Gabriel Lightwood and I would be splendid friends. Your judgment is not always perfect, I'm afraid."

"It often is, however. I did know to come for you at De Quincey's manor if you'll recall."

Will did recall. That only added another question to his ever-lengthening list of those. How did Jem know to save him at De Quincey's manor? Neither Ms. Gray nor he had gone back to warn the Institute, so how would he have known that they needed help?

"William!" Charlotte took him out of his thoughts. "James! Stop chattering amongst yourselves."

"How can we possibly not?" Will complained. "You have us doing the dullest thing imaginable."

"Well then, Will, what would you prefer to do?"

"Quite frankly, Charlotte, anything else!"

She turned to her husband. "You heard the boy, darling."

Will took one look at the piles of automatons dripping with oil and knew he had made a terrible error.

"This is it," Henry told him. "All I need for you to do is sort all the parts out so I can study them more easily. I would do it myself, but Charlotte forbids me. She says that 'the stains will never come out.'" He shrugged. "Well, get on with it."

Grimacing, Will walked over to the table and tentatively lifted one gear into the air. He tried to move away when the bits of oil splattered down, but it had already stained his trousers. Another part sorted, another stain spreading across his clothing. By the time he was finished, there were hundreds of them on his clothes, black as soot. Will turned around and looked for something to wipe his hands on.

Henry's crypt was a dark, dusty place. The lights were constantly low, so the blackboard, tables, and machinery always cut a strange shadow. It looked like a place some madman in a novel would frequent, not Henry. However, Henry loved the place, so there was nothing Will could do about it. After toweling his hands with one of Henry's aprons, Will ascended the stairs out of the crypt. 

"I do hope you weren't expecting Sophia to clean that for you," Jem remarked when he saw Will.

"Why is that?"

"Charlotte let her have the day off, didn't she?"

"Right." Will made for the entrance.

"Where're you head to?"

"A pub, preferably. I'd like to get so drunk I no longer remember this day."

"I've half a mind to go with you."

"Jem, you can't," Perhaps he said that too sharply. "With your illness, I don't think you'd be -"

"I know." Jem darkened and walked away. 'First I'm forced to do that stupid task, then I upset my best friend. I must get to that pub.' With newfound resolve, Will burst out the Institute doors.

By now, the sun was dancing near the horizon. Streaks of people were milling about doing their business. A gentle breeze was blowing all the smog away, so Will needn't pause every two seconds to cough his guts out. It was a nice evening or the closest to it the people of London knew. Will knew he should be happy with it, but in the back of his mind, he was comparing it to another evening.

An evening in a place where the air was always clear and smelt of pine. During the day the sky was blue and clear like his mother's gaze, and at night it was veiled in more stars then there were grains of sand in Brighton beach. The world was so wide in that estate. So bright, so full of adventure. Trees stood guard for hundreds of miles from it like sentinels, but they had failed in their duty. In Will's dreams, it was a place of laughter and adventure, but he knew that today, it was a place of death.

'Stop,' Will told himself. 'It will do you no good to dwell on it.' But dwell on it he did, time and time again.

"Hey, you!" A voice called out. "Yer a shadowhunta' aren't cha'?" Will saw two people emerge from around the corner, one man, one woman. The woman was short and dark-haired, the man rawboned and blond. Both were pale as milk. Vampires.

"I might be," Will responded carefully. "What of it?"

"Oh don't be so wary, now," the man said. "We're not gonna hurt ya', we just need yer help gettin rid o' these bloody machine men."

"Automatons," the woman corrected him. "Would you do it, Mr. Shadowhunter? You look like a man who battles automatons often enough." She nodded at his clothing.

"Automatons? Where?"

"We'll show you," the man gestured for Will to follow him. Will did, with a hand on his seraph, ready for an ambush.

The man and woman led him to a small shop with a sign above it declaring that it was 'Ada and Oscar's Magical Solutions' in curling script. "I'm Ada, she's Oscar," the man said.

"No, I'm Ada, he's Oscar," the woman sighed.

"Thas what I said."

Ada ignored Oscar. "The Automatons are inside the shop," she told Will.

"How did they get there?"

"It's the strangest thing, I tell ya," Oscar said. "One minute is' business as usual, then, three metal abominations burs' through the door and start sackin' every thin'."

"They were very fixated on the doll powder," Ada noted.

"And what's in the doll powder?" When Ada flushes, Will had his answer. "Right. Demonic energies."

"We're terribly sorry Mr. Shadowhunter!" Ada cried. "Oh please sir, please don't punish us! We'll be good, I promise. We'll be good, won't we Oscar?"

"Yes, Mr. Shadowhunter," his heart wasn't in it. "We'll be good."

"Calm yourself, Ada, I won't report you two." It felt strange for Will to call a woman he had just met by her Christian name.

"Thank you so much, Mr. Shadowhunter." She dabbed at the corners of her eyes to wipe away red tears.

"Alright, then, let's have a look at these 'machine men.'" Will muttered. Sloppily, he scrawled runes for agility and flexibility on to his skin. He felt as though he was forgetting a rune, but when he could not conjure up which one, he returned the stele to his belt. Will slid two seraph blades out of his belt and whispered the names of two angels. The seraphs lit up. Praying that the door wasn't creaky, Will nudged it open with his shoulder.

Inside, the Automatons stood reaching for the doll powder, which thankfully was on the topmost shelf. Will wasn't sure what Mortmain planned to do with demon energies, but he was willing to wager that it was nothing good. Gingerly, Will placed one foot in the shop. The resulting freak could probably be observed till India. Soundlessness. Will had forgotten the rune for soundlessness.

In tandem, the Automatons whipped their heads towards the sound. These three had been formed in the likeness of two dark-haired men and a woman who reminded Will sickeningly of Ms. Gray. Though the skin she wore was a beautiful woman, there was something off about the automaton, all three of them, really. Their faces had this uncanny resemblance to a human's, but not quite. It made them seem more horrifying than if they were simply monsters.

The brawny dark haired one came at him first, but Will was ready for him. He hurled a jar so it shattered to the other side of the room from him. Confused, the automaton changed direction. Seizing the moment, Will leaped across the room and dragged his blades through the automaton's back, severing all of his wirings. The automaton went limp and collapsed onto the ground spilling oil everywhere. Will had no time to savor the kill because another automaton grabbed him by the collar and threw him across the room.

Will crashed into the wall, so hard his vision blurred. Warm blood trickled down his forehead. Outside he heard Ada cry out. 'No, you idiot,' he thought dully. 'They'll come for you next.' But the damage was already done. The automatons turned away from him and made for the door. Oscar was begging her to run, but Ada insisted that they "couldn't leave him behind." Will wanted to scream for them to leave, but all he could conjure up was a choked cough.

The Ms. Gray lookalike heard his coughing and returned her attention to him. She mechanically walked back over to him, gearing screeching. Will forced himself to stand up. The automaton meant to bash his skull against the wall, but Will moved away at the last second. Ignoring the wave of nausea that came over him, he wrapped his arms around her bodice, heaved her over his head in an arc, and slammed her head first onto the ground.

Will groaned from the exertion of the move. On the ground, the automaton has dented the ground just as much as it had her. Flesh had come away to reveal an endoskeleton of metal. She started to move, so Will shoved a table onto her with a grunt. It fell on her right shoulder. Undeterred, the automaton tried to peg her arm out from under the table.

Will threw himself on top of her to keep her pinned down and raised his seraphs into the air. Upon closer inspection, Will saw that she didn't look much like Ms. Gray at all. Where Ms. Gray's brown eyes looked around the world with curiosity, the automatons' sockets were empty. He was almost upset with himself for comparing her to Ms. Gray. Angrily, Will brought the blade down and ran in the length of the bodice, then flipped her over to make sure he destroyed the wiring in the back. Soon enough, the floor was drenched in oil. Will's happiness at his victory was soon drowned by horror. Ada and Oscar.

Frantic, Will shoved the door open an emerged out into the street, only to see that there was no trouble at all. A silver-haired man stood over the dead automaton as Oscar and Ada profusely thanked him for saving them. Jem looked up and smirked at Will. "This doesn't look much like a pub."

'Jem has saved me again,' Will realized, 'How?'


	17. The Scarred One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Sexual assault

Despite Will's constant denunciation of the brothers, Sophie considered Gabriel and Gideon Lightwood to be rather good-looking. Perhaps not Gabriel exactly - though he was tall and slender, which only served to emphasize his height, with watchful, green eyes, and tousled brown eyes - his constant scowl put Sophie off. Gideon was the more handsome one out of the two. Muscular, a man with full, sandy-blond hair and grey-green eyes. She had to keep herself from sighing as he and his brother came up the staircase.

Sophia felt conscious of herself in shadowhunter gear - man's clothes. The space around her legs was oddly free, and she thought she could span the entirety of London's skyline now that she wasn't weighed down by her corset and skirts. At least Sophie could fit into the sizes provided for women; Agatha was forced to wear the same size of gear and Thomas, who was considerably brawny as mundanes went. She saw Gabriel grin slightly when he saw Agatha, and without him having to say a word, Sophie felt her resentment toward him grow. Sophie hoped that since Will hated him so much, he might turn out to be a respectable gentleman, but unfortunately not.

Gideon smiled at the three of them and said, rather brightly, that he was delighted to see them and that they must go to the training room to begin the day's lessons. The training room was not one servants frequented, so when they finally entered it, Sophie felt somewhat the same as a child observing her first snow. It was a room longer than it was wide, with mirrors along one side and weapons in shapes and sizes Sophie had never considered along another. Gideon and Gabriel led their students to the center of the room and handed them thin, flat blades they called 'throwing knives'. As Gideon demonstrated the proper way to grip a throwing knife, a woman burst into the room.

This woman was definitely a shadowhunter, she was dressed gear and there were visible marks upon her skin, yet she was the most peculiar Nephilim Sophie had ever seen. She had high, sharp cheekbones and a small, pointed nose, like a fae. Her gear was adorned by patterns and beads, like child's doodling when they grew tired of arithmetic.

"It's good to see that you're late as always," Gabriel said, "Downworlders can change their shapes, mundanes can best Nephilim, but Margaret Keeley will never fail to be late."

"Be quiet, Gabe," Gideon snapped, "and do at least make an effort to be on time, Ms. Keeley."

"Oh I do sincerely apologize, Mr. and Mr. Lightwood," Ms. Keeley said, almost sounding sincere, "I had my hands full dealing with unrest in the Downworld before this task was added to my plate."

"If you wish, I can have it arranged so someone else takes on this responsibility," Gideon suggested.

"No, no, no," Ms. Keeley waved aside the thought, "What gave you the idea that I dislike having my hands beyond capacity? Let's get on with the lesson already."

The three Nephilim and mundanes paired off for one-on-one instruction: Ms. Keeley went with Thomas, Gabriel with Agatha, and Gideon with Sophie. Sophie felt a twinge of pity for Agatha, sour Gabriel Lightwood couldn't be a good or patient tutor, but they seemed to be doing well enough. She couldn't tell if Ms. Keeley was actually teaching Thomas anything or just putting the knife in his hands and laughing hysterically every time he missed, which couldn't be good for his confidence. It appeared to be in good humor, however, so Sophie pushed it to the back of her mind.

Gideon modeled to Sophie how she was meant to grip the knife, how to arc her arms when she threw it, and the position her body should be in after the throw. Sophie tried her best to follow the instructions and threw the knife with as much strength as she could muster. The blade landed no where near the target, instead digging into the stone of the Institute three feet to the left of it.

After retrieving the throwing knife, Gideon fixed Sophie with a look she couldn't place, muttered "dios mío,"under his breath, and told her to throw it again. Sophie didn't understand what just happened. Had she done well or terribly? She strongly suspected the latter. Gulping, Sophie did as she was asked and threw the knife again, trying to correct any mistakes in form she might have made before.

As the afternoon drew on, the sounds of human voices - even Ms. Keeley's voice - lessened. The air of the training room was filled by the sound of knives whistling through the air, slamming on the other side of the room. Thomas and Agatha were rather brawny, so it was rather easy for them to throw the knives far. Sophie, on the other hand, had to perfect her technique to maximize her comparatively little strength. A few times, the knife barely made it halfway across, at which Gideon simply retrieved the knife and asked her to try again.

Near the end of the session, as Sophie prepared to throw, Gideon placed a hand under her forearm to correct her posture. Sophie immediately flinched away from him, leaving the knife to loudly clatter onto the ground. Confused, Gideon stared at Sophie as she hugged herself, begging herself not to cry, not to collapse onto the ground.

No matter how many years passed, Sophie could never truly leave that house. Even after they threw her out, she always found herself back there, and it troubled her because she never wanted to return there. It was no longer a physical place to Sophie, that house was more of a state in her mind. A state when she retreated into herself and flinched whenever anyone came near her, tried to speak to her.

She could feel the words against her jawbone, the teeth biting her ear, the hands running down her bodice. 'You should be nicer to me,' he said, as he always did. Sophie tried to kick, to hit, to struggle free of his grasp, but she knew even back then that any injury she gave him, no matter how deserved, would be inflicted back on her tenfold. Then before she knew it, the words and the hands and the teeth crept all over her body. He was biting down on her neck and his hands slid down her legs, and his words were churning inside her stomach. She wanted to hurl up the bile that came up at the back of her throat, to tear off every inch of skin defiled by his presence.

Back in the world of reality, where only a slight sliver of Sophie's conscience remained, Ms. Keeley announced that was enough for the day. With Gideon helplessly looking on at her, Sophie fled the training room. His worried questions banged against Sophie's eardrums: "are you alright, Ms. Collins?", "do you want me to go slower?" and finally, the one that broke her heart, "Ms. Collins, what did I do wrong?"

It did not please Sophie to worry people in the way she did, but there was nothing else she could do. Gideon - privileged, Nephilim Mr. Gideon Lightwood - how could he understand the terror he had inflicted on her when he innocently tried to correct her stance? Things like that probably never happened to shadowhunter women. Shadowhunter women were strong, and Sophie was just a sighted mundane maid.

When she arrived at the crypt under the kitchen, where she and Agatha shared a room, Sophie shed her shadowhunter disguise. There was a fine layer of sweat on her body, but she had no time to run a bath, so she wiped herself down with a towel and changed back into her maid's uniform. Once dressed, Sophie tried to convince herself to go upstairs. Agatha would be working on dinner, and couldn't let her cook alone. But, all Sophie wanted to do was wrap herself in a heavy blanket and melt into her safe bed.

Sophie looked at her reflection in the low light of the crypt, and traced along her scar, from its origin at the left corner of her mouth to where it curved and ended at her temple. She would never be a woman like Jessamine with half her face distorted by that scar. But was it really so terrible to no longer be beautiful when being beautiful made her like this?

Heavy footsteps descended the crypt, and Sophie didn't have to turn to know they belonged to Agatha. The older woman squeezed Sophie's shoulders and softly said - or said as softly as her gruff voice would allow her, "You're alright, girlie. This is the London Institute." Sophie numbly nodded. Agatha was the only person other than Charlotte who knew the extent of what she endured, and perhaps the only other person who could truly understand it.

"I need your help fixing dinner, love. The food won't hurt you, no matter how bad it smells. I'll go serve for you, if you want, though I'm no where near as lovely to look at as you." Sophie nodded once more and let herself be led out of the crypt.

Cooking was a welcome distraction from the crazed frenzy that were her thoughts. Agatha didn't speak much as she worked, but her presence was enough to slightly loosen the knot in her stomach, and by the time they were finished, Sophie felt well enough to serve the food herself. Her resolve chipped slightly when she saw the way Gideon's gaze snapped to her, the undisguised flash of worry across his face. She could feel his eyes on her as she served Charlotte and Henry, and it never left her as she went over to Ms. Keeley's side. He wanted to speak to her about what happened during training, to understand why she reacted the way she did, which was admirable, but all Sophie wanted was to pretend that it never happened.

Gideon did not ask Sophie about what happened when she came to serve him, and she was thankful for that. She saved serving Jem for last, because he would always smile at her when she did - despite her disfigurement - and his smiles would warm her heart and free any lingering tension in her body.

Sophie stood by the door of the dining hall so she would be there if either Agatha or the Nephilim needed her. When dinner was well underway, Agatha slipped out of the kitchen for a moment to tell her that she did well, then returned before anyone noticed her. The shadowhunters were discussing the plan to catch Mortmain, or rather, Gabriel was interrogating Charlotte on the Mortmain investigation as Jem and Gideon tried to keep the peace and Henry was much more interested in his almanac. Ms. Keeley whipped back and forth from Gabriel to Charlotte looking increasingly more amused as time went on. Sophie thought that was a bit rude, though maybe her reaction to any uncomfortable situation was laughter.

Midway through a sentence, Jem went into a fit of coughing, and Sophie spotted a smear of blood on his witchlight illuminated hand. Instantly, Sophie was at his side, dabbing at the drop of blood so nobody noticed it and loudly suggesting that perhaps Mr. Carstairs would like to turn in early, when he abruptly stood up. Jem announced that he had an important matter to take care of, and asked Thomas to bring him his sword-can. When he was reunited with the weapon of his choice, Jem briskly departed.


	18. A Hive of Scum and Villany

"How could you know?" Will demanded, "How you possibly know?"

"I'm beginning to think that you'd rather I let your new friends die," Jem said, leaning against the bricked alleyway.

"I want to know, James, because I'd rather people not have the inexplicable ability to find me whenever it pleases them. They could find me when I'm doing something terribly illegal, for one."

"You could rectify it by not committing whatever terribly illegal act you were going to commit."

"Why would I do something so sensible, James?" Jem chuckled, "To be severe for a moment-"

"Will Herondale asking for severity? The world must be at its end."

"-I would like to know how you did it."

Jem sighed and shuffled his weight. Will cast a look back at Ada and Oscar's Magical Solutions. Both Ada and Oscar were working diligently to clean up the mess he and those automatons had left. Surely there would be thousands of shillings in damages they'd have to pay for. Though he had done all he had to help them, Will could not help but feel a pang of guilt. He tore his eyes away from the shop to keep it from eating him alive.

"I'll tell you , Will," Jem said, "It's not at all what you think it would be. I somehow... know. Whenever you're in trouble, I suddenly just know where you are, that I have to go there."

"Why do you reckon it happens, Jem?"

Jem shook his head, "I don't know." Will leaned against the wall next to Jem, looked up at the fogged over sky. His top hat threatened to fall off his head."You don't think I'm lying to you, do you Will?"

"Of course not, I just don't understand it. If you can sense when I need help, why can't I?"

"You tend to need help more than I do."

"I suppose that's true," Will readjusted his hat, "In any case, did you finally find anything in that mountain of papers that might help us find Mortmain?"

"Nothing pertaining to his location, but I did find out that he 'inherited' the company from his 'father', Dr. Hollingworth Mortmain, who he looks a great deal like. It gave him the incentive to change the course of his business from trading to mechanics."

"Ah," Will clucked his tongue against his teeth, "The old Vampire Trick."

"Very clever of him," Jem nodded, "How do you think he extended his life so much? Warlocks were surely involved."

"Well, if warlocks are the concern, there's only one place to go."

"How do you suggest we have a civil conversation with Ragnor Fell? Even if the man's distain for shadowhunters wasn't so well documented, we can't quite walk up to his house with things the way they are now."

"Who said a thing about Ragnor Fell?" 

 

*** 

"I can't believe you've done this," Jem said as he stared at a an ifrit and a Kelpie drunkenly argue, "I cannot believe that we are here."

"Be quiet sometimes," Will squinted into the crowd of merrymakers, scanning for the man he needed. 

"I will certainly not be quiet, William Herondale. You really have outdone yourself this time. A an ifrit den in the East End? I try to defend you in front of Jessie and Charlotte, but you make it quite difficult with the ways you act." 

Will frowned. Though it was true that Jem never truly approved of his activities, it was unlike him to be adamantly against them. He studied Jem's face and saw not disgust, but anger in his eyes. "Is there a special reason you take such offense with this place?" 

"'Is there a special reason-!?'" Jem breathed out. He took a breath and tried again, "Is it not clear to see why I hate this place, Will?" He swept his arm towardss the scene before them, "Look at all these men having yin fen for pleasure. This drug - this poison has destroyed my life, and these men are willingly subjecting it to themselves. How could I not take offense with this place, Will? I try to be a man who is tolerant of all people, but still I am a man. This is far too much for me." 

Will opened his mouth to say something in response, but he found all his words dried up. How could be so dense as to not consider that earlier? Jem was his greatest friend and closest confidant of five years, not to mention his parabatai. By now he should have known his thoughts and feelings as well as he knew his own. Where Jem knew whenever Will required saving, Will couldn't be trusted to know that seeing a den full of men enjoying the substance that tore his life apart would upset him. 

Upon seeing Will's downcast expression, Jem sighed and placed hand on Will's shoulder. "My apologies. I shouldn't have lost myself like that. We're looking for a man, are we not? Let's find him and leave this establishment as quickly as possible." 

Nodding, Will turned back to the crowd around them. Though Jem's apology surely meant to make him feel better, Will felt nothing but a deeper shame take hold of him. Of course it was Jem, the one with the reason to be furious, who took the role of the reasonable peacemaker. It was always him who settled things, while Will created conflict and angered all her met for his bull-headedness. 

A familiar pair of golden cat-eyes came into Will's vision. He patted Jem and pointed the man out to him. The two nodded at one another in silent conversation, drew soundless runes on each other, and melted into the other people at the den. They floated through the array far apart to not be thought to be together, yet always knowing where the other was, where their target was. Inconspicuous, they wafted next to the cot where he lay as if they'd chanced upon it. Jem pretened to fiddle with a pipe, leaving the conversing to Will. 

"For a man of your stature, this is an odd place for you to patronize."

Magnus Bane whipped his head up from a dazed stupor. 

"It was a good glamour, I must say, but unfortunately not good enough to fool a Shadowhunter," Will went on, keeping his tone casual, "So, do tell, why are you here?" 

"Is that a question you must ask?" Bane set his feet down on the ground and rubbed fogginess out of his eyes, "I have walked this Earth since the Dead Sea was a puddle; I have enough sorrows to spend the rest of my considerable lifespan shut up in an ifrit den." 

"My, my," Jem muttered without shifting his eyes from the pipe, "I never knew you were a poet as well as a warlock." 

"Cut the preamble, Nephilim, what is it that you want? You people always want something or the other." 

"We must know if there is some way for a mortal to lengthen his life with the use of magic," Will said. 

"I knew things were volatile in the Enclave, but I did not know they were this dire," Bane was the only one to chuckled at his jape. Will attributed his snideness to the yin fen, if only to keep a lid on his temper. 

"It is critical that we are made aware of this information, Mr. Bane," Jem said, patient as always, "What you tell us today could be the difference between life and death for Jessamine Lovelace and Theresa Gray." 

"Two women I've never met in my life. Why should I care if they live or die?" 

"Ms. Gray is a Downworlder, much like yourself." 

"There are may Downworlders in London, Nephilim. I don't throw my back out trying to help every one of them." 

"Then care because -" Jem finally cut a glance away from the pipe at Will. It was well deserved. Will himself did not recognize the passion in his words. The idea that someone could ask for a reasons to care about Ms. Gray - she who stood against Mortmain's automaton army and offered her freedom to defend the lives of people she had known for less than a week - summoned an unknowable rage inside of him, "- because she was good! Because she was hapless at the hands of circumstance, yet never complained for a moment!" Before he knew it, Will had hauled Mr. Bane to his feet and was shouting into his face. "Care because she deserved none of the horrors she was subjected to!" 

Jem made to pull them apart, but that proved to be unecessary when a burst of blue sparks erupted in front of Will, sending him flying across the room. Will crashed into the wall with enough forced to crack the wood, in addition with a few of his bones. He was allowed not a moment to recover himself; the ifrit who owned the den threw them out onto the streets for causing too much of a commotion. Jem kneeled next to Will as he groaned on the ground and pulled back the cloth of his waistcoat to draw healing runes onto his skin. Magnus Bane peered down at them. Will expected him to make a sour comment and stalk off, but to his surprise, he said: "I don't know of any way for a mortal to magically elongate his life. However, I have a suspicion that the fae Arabella would answer differently."

 

"Arabella? But is she not a mermaid?" Will asked, "How are we to contact her, scream into the River Thames until she hears us?" 

"What a wonderful idea!" With that, Mr. Bane left them.


	19. To Be Nothing

In the beginning, she had refused to cry out. It couldn't have been so bad. All they had done was shackle her to her bed, no torture or anything. They even brought her food, and let her out of her chains to eat and use the lavatory. But after the first week, Jessie's resolve had broken. So many days of staring at the plain walls and staring at the walls had turned her mind numb. Had it truly been days, or had she just been there for an hour? Her mind could not puzzle it out.

From what Jessie could tell, the shackles were bolted quite loosely to the wall. After three hours of struggling, she knew that to be a false assessment. Then, Jessie tried crying out, screaming till her throat turned raw. Someone must have heard her, but if they did, they did not care. Jessie wanted to cry, but she could not find the strength to do so.

Day after day, laying on a bed, unmoving. In complete darkness, she stared at the wall in front of her and tried to pick out the marks and scuffs in the paint because she could not find anything else to do with herself. Jessie knew with a certainty that she would die on that bed, staring at the ceiling. How poetic that Jessamine Lovelace, who had wanted to be nothing but a lady, would die looking like a shadowhunter. The irony of it made her want to claw her eyes out, but what else could she do? Nothing but pull at her shackles and cry out as her skin bruised and blued. It was all pointless. Why should she try to stay alive? Jessie stopped eating, stopped thinking, stopped hoping. She closed her eyes and waited to die.

There was something bright in front of her eyes. Heaven. I've died, it's finally happened. Eagerly, Jessie pulled them open, but she had no such luck. The ceiling above her was still beige and browning, and her hands were still shackled to the wall, though now the lights were on. That was good, perhaps. A change.

The door flew open, and a girl wandered in. She was small and thin, fourteen at most. Her ratty brown hair was shortly cut, and eyes cavernous. Pinched between two dainty fingers she held a set of keys. Holding them up, she clanged them together.

"Are you here to free me?" Jessie choked out. The girl said nothing. With baited breath, Jessie watched as the girl slid her key into the keyhole and was amazed when they fell free. Tentatively, Jessie rubbed her chatted wrists and sat up straight. The motion made her back ache. "Why are you doing this?" Jessie asked. She ran her hands over her legs and arms to get the blood moving and remove the numbness from them.

The girl said nothing once again. She left the room and came back in a few moments later holding a dress. By then Jessie was on her feet and desperate for answers, but never did a sound escape the girl's mouth. Six other girls fluttered into the room carrying hot water for a bath, similarly small and thin. The last girl locked the door behind her.

One of them pulled aside a screen to reveal a bath. Jessie had been in utter darkness for so long that she hadn't realized that there were other things in that room. Quickly, the girls poured out their buckets of water into the tub, then walked over to Jessie and made her go in the bath. Seeing them up close, Jessie saw that their sockets held no eyes. Automatons! She wanted to scream. The automaton girls furiously scrubbed her skin and hair like she was a particularly grimy stain. They scrubbed and scrubbed until her skin turned red and head pounded.

After her torture of a bath, the automaton girl's got to work dressing Jessie. One of them brushed her hair while two tied her corset and the other silently left. The corset girls pulled and pulled the corset until Jessie couldn't breathe and cried out, then some more. When they had sufficiently freed her lungs of all the air in them, the girls got to work putting the dress on Jessie. It was long sleeved and cream colored with flowery detailing. The underskirt was a teal color, the same as the bows that adorned the bodice.

Standing behind her, the girl combed and styled Jessie's hair into a massive puffy bun with a few tight ringlets. The girls put a white feathered hat on her head, slid long gloves onto her hands, and laced boots onto her feet. When it was all done, they gave her not a moment not look herself in the mirror before they marched her out the door.

The place she emerged into was not as decrepit as Jessie had thought it would be. There were large skylights that flooded the building in sunlight. Jessie saw that she was on the top floor of an enormous two-story manor. The girls led her down the grand staircase to a ballroom with large windows. Through them, you could see lush forestry unheard of in smoggy London. Where am I? The girls did not allow her to admire the scenery and steered her towards a table for two. A man was already seated there, drinking from a blue china tea set. Jessie's blood hardened. She was a prisoner here. She could not forget that amidst all the pretty dresses and fancy manors.

Tentatively, Jessie took her place on the seat designated for her. The man sitting opposite to was looking away out the window. His profile seemed familiar to her somehow. Having done their duty, the automaton girls curtsied and left. When they left, the man finally turned to look at her. Jessie nearly gasped. That man was none other than Nathaniel Gray. Before she could say a word, Mr. Gray started speaking.

"I know you must be confused, Ms. Lovelace," he said, "I assure you that all your questions will be answered, in time."

"Answer me this first, Mr. Gray," Jessie demanded, "Why are you standing here with Mortmain, and not with your sister, where ever she may be?"

"Ms. Lovelace, there are some things you must know-"

"All I must know is that you have betrayed your own family and those who have saved you!" Jessie stood up. The automaton girls came back into her vision, but Mr. Gray waved them away.

"I understand that you feel betrayed, Ms. Lovelace, but you must understand, the shadowhunters are not what you believe them to be."

"And you understand the shadowhunters better than I do, of course?" Jessie could feel her face growing hotter. It would be looking terribly blotchy, then. Not pretty at all. She had to calm herself as soon as possible, for Mother always said that a lady must look her best at all times. 

"Ms. Lovelace, the shadowhunters are not what they pretend to be. Instead of protecting mundanes and downworlders, they look down upon them as though they are the filth of the streets. So deep they are in their arrogance that they not once considered a lowly mundane could outwit them. They were bound to be eradicated at some point, Ms. Lovelace. All Mr. Mortmain is doing is speeding up the process. And you, as a woman who has suffered greatly from the shadowhunters' cruelty, well, we considered that you might be of a mind to assist us."

"What are you suggesting?" 

"As I see it, you have two paths before you, Ms. Lovelace. You may either agree to spy on the shadowhunters for the Mortmain initiative, or you may rot away in that room. Horribly absolute, I know, but desperate time do call for desperate measures." 

"How could you even think of such a thing?" The automaton girls were encircling Jessie once again. She had to bite her tongue to keep from screaming.

Mr. Gray gave her one last, wane look, "All that I think, Miss Lovelace, is that you know firsthand the cruelty of shadowhunters.” By now the automatons stood all around Jessie. Mr. Gray stood up, signaling that the meeting was over, "I shall give you a week to think it over, Ms. Lovelace. Do think carefully." At that, she was swept away, back to her prison. Jessie looked only at where she was headed to keep from turning to look at Mr. Gray again. 

There had been something off about him, different in his manner. For some unknowable reason, Jessie could not believe that the man she had known all too briefly at the Institute could betray his sister so. Or perhaps that was all a show? Wouldn't Ms. Gray see through it? He was her brother, after all. 

The automatons girls echoed Mr. Gray words of 'a week to think it over', then slammed it shut, leaving Jessie in the same darkness she had come to hate. Though now she could move, perhaps that could be considered an improvement. Feeling through the dark, she sat down on the bed and sighed, shoulders drooping. Why had they given her a week to think it over, in any case? They surely knew what her answer would be, and it was no. She was not a traitor. But, another, quieter voice, asked: it’s true, isn’t it? You do know the cruelty of shadowhunters.

And she saw herself at fourteen, shivering though it wasn’t cold, chapped lips and pale-faced, standing before the impassive Nephilim of the Enclave regarding her as if she were some vermin. She watched as Consul Wayland laid her life bare to them and their expressions grew more twisted with every detail. Parents left the Shadow World, raised a mundane, taught to be a lady, no training whatsoever. A disgrace. At last, she felt her heart break once again as Wayland requested for any shadowhunter willing to take in the newly orphaned Jessamine Lovelace, and not a single hand rose. 

Jessie fell back and felt hot tears forming in her eyes. She hated the Nephilim. Despised them. There was not a single day when she wished to be a mundane. Yet except for them, she had nothing else in the world. She was no shadowhunter, and no lady, either. She was too emotional, Mother was always saying, too loud, too opinionated, too much, too much, always too much. Well, if she wasn't a shadowhunter, and she wasn't a lady, what was she? 

As her tears spilled onto the knitted quilt she lay on, Jessie thought she knew the answer: nothing.


	20. Secrets Underwater

Will arranged for himself to wake up early the next morning by drinking a strategic amount of water before bed the night before, but for some reason, Jem had not followed his lead. It was quarter past four in the morning, grey sunlight was only beginning to peak out of the horizon, and for some unfathomable reason, Jem was still asleep. Knowing that Jem would be furious if he left without him, Will trudged up to his room and shook Jem awake. To make things even more confusing, Jem was annoyed at Will for having woken him "before the bloody sun!"

"Do you not remember what I told you yesterday night, James?"

Jem put his head in his hands, "I think you're the one who doesn't remember, William. I distinctly recall telling you that we do not have to wake up at fishing hours to speak with Arabella."

"But she's a fish!"

"She's a Seelie, Will. Neither human nor fish."

"Well then, Jem, since you know everything apparently, how do you suggest we contact Arabella?"

"I don't know!" Jem threw up his hands, "Some other, saner way, ideally."

"Aha! You haven't a clue. Therefore, my idea is the best lead we've got, and we are going to the Thames."

"I regret agreeing to be your parabatai more every day."

"No, you don't," Will lightly slapped Jem's arm, "You love me more every day!"

Jem shook his head, faintly smiling, and got out of bed.

After arriving at the slimy bank of the Thames, Jem and Will were struck by the fact that they hadn't planned much further than that moment. It was difficult to see more than two centimeters into the river, being as it was a toxic sludge of factory, human, and agricultural waste. The pungent odor was unbearable, a noxious soup of rotted meat, phosphorus from matchstick factories, and filthy clothes. Will nearly gagged. He was certain that one of the masses floating past was a cadaver.

Jem actually tried to call on Arabella by shouting into the river but stopped when a young urchin girl and her young brother gave him strange looks. Neither one of them particularly wanted to dive into the water, so they resorted to throwing rocks into the Thames and hoping the ripples they left behind would alert the merpeople of their presence.

There was a resounding cry in the gloom of early morning. In the distance, the urchin girl haplessly kicked against the current that had her in its grasp, her screaming mouth filling with poisoned water. Jem was saying that they should get a rope to pull her out, but before he finished his sentence Will had already shed his hat and overcoat and dove into the river. Shaking his head, Jem went in after him.

It was the strangest thing. Though the girl appeared to be caught in the tide, her body hadn't once moved since Will dove into the Thames. In fact, she wasn't even drowning. Will didn't stop swimming toward her, because his eyes could be deceiving him, but there was something off. He could tell Jem though the same. When Will swam up to her, his parabatai right beside him, the girl reached out her arms to a length someone her age wouldn't be able to, gripped Jem and Will, and pulled them under the water.

As Will lung's filled with water, the girl took in a breath so vast her rib cage expanded, and blew a bubble around Will and Jem. All the water inside of Will's lungs cleared away, and he floated within a kind of oxygen chamber. He and Jem exchanged looks. It appeared that screaming into the Thames worked after all.

The girl who was not an urchin kicked her tail and dove deep in into the river. Will and Jem's bubble followed closely after her. They went past shoes and hats, flowers and vegetables and other miscellaneous junk discarded by mundanes, toward a spot at the bottom of the Thames that shone with a pale blue light. When they passed into that region, beyond what mundanes knew as the river's bed, the water suddenly cleared.

Above, what could be large marine creatures or mounds of garbage collected together wafted by. Around them, schools of merpeople floated by. Some had sparks of color on their skin, where in others their scales stretched across their human parts and twined across their arms, torso, and face. A few of the women had covered their chests using large strips of seaweed - even cloth, in a few cases - but many others hadn't bothered. Jem's face was deeply red.

Their guide, upon seeing Jem's obvious discomfort, giggled. She led the bubble further down still, toward a bioluminescent cave at the side of the river. Outside of it, a squad of armored mermen stood guard wielding their crab-like, pronged weapons. They nodded at the guide and moved aside to let her through.

Inside, there was a mermaid stretched out on a plush bed of folded coral She wore a blouse of tiny shells, held together by seaweed, and her auburn hair had pearls strung into it. The mermaid Arabella rouse from her sleep and studied the two shadowhunters.

"Nephilim, are you?" bubbles erupted from her mouth when she spoke, and those bubbles popped against the one Jem and Will were in, so her voice echoed around them.

"I suspected so," she went on, "You surface-dwellers are such prudes."

"Jem, perhaps, but never me, Ms. Arabella," Will flashed her a grin, as he normally would, but this one felt like a great betrayal. The guide snorted at his grin and looked to Arabella for further instructions. She dismissed her with a wave of her hand.

"What is it that you want, Nephilim?" Arabella said. Will recalled another Downworlder saying something to the same affect only last night. Why was it that Downworlders always thought shadowhunters wanted something from them when they came to them? Perhaps because that's usually the case, Will thought, and frowned internally.

"We were told by a reliable source that you know of ways mortals can extend their lifespans," Jem said.

"That is true," Arabella nodded, shifting slightly, "I've been forced to become resourceful in order to sate my appetite for shadowhunter men." She offered Will a coy smile, which he somehow didn't want to return. He did return it, yet felt as if he was doing something awful.

"Could you inform us of how this can be achieved before you formally begin to court my parabatai?"

"Oh, silly Nephilim! Who on Earth said a thing about courting? I am not a marriage kind of woman, and it seems that neither is your very handsome parabatai." Jem flushed ten shades redder than previously thought possible, at which Arabella heartily laughed. At any other time, Will would have joined in her laughter, and together they would tease Jem mercilessly, but instead he bit his lip. There was a strain at the back of his mind, and it was in the shape of a woman in a dark house, her determined gray eyes bearing into his soul as she clutched a jug of water, ready to attack.

Will cleared his throat, "As a matter of fact, I, too, would appreciate it if you gave us that bit of information." Arabella cut him an annoyed glare for spoiling her fun, but it was nothing compared to how far Jem's eyebrows jumped at hearing that. Will tried to ignore it.

Arabella rolled her eyes, "I call it the Drought of Asteroidea. It's a concoction that freezes all the functions in a mortal's body, essentially. That means the mortal no longer ages, nor does he need to eat or sleep."

"Does anyone else know of the Drought of Asteroidea?" Jem asked.

"Only two other people, to my knowledge. A warlock couple by the name of John and Anne Shade, but they've been dead years now. Killed by, oh, Nephilim, with no evidence of wrongdoing. How strange," Jem shuffled uncomfortably as Arabella flicked the pair of them a contemptuous look, "Is that all you wanted, great shadowhunters?"

"One more thing," Will said, then immediately regretted saying, yet went on nevertheless, "Could you tell us how to make the Drought?"

Jem mouthed, 'why would we need to know how to make it?' at Will, then paused and pursed his lips when he realized why Will asked. Arabella heaved as if answering that question was some great task, turned toward an opening in the cave by her, and shouted, "Maeryarette! Come down here this instant!" A mass of bubbles arose from the opening, a distant voice saying "coming mother!"

A woman emerged from the opening, but she was not a mermaid. She had legs like a human would, and she wore the shapeless, drab dress of an urchin, however, her legs and arms were adorned by scales that sparkled in the cave's light. The woman had ash-blonde hair and features that Will always thought looked fae, yet never considered that they actually were. Somehow, it made sense that Margaret Keeley was a Seelie - a half Seelie, at least - so much sense that it seemed awfully foolish that they hadn't known before.

Greta stared at Will and Jem, as if she couldn't believe that they existed, then swam past them and out of the cave. Will and Jem, synchronized, pursed after her in their bubble. It was easy enough to keep an eye in her; despite her drab clothing, her colorful scales on her legs and arms drew thejr attention. Greta whipped past masses of garbage to try and shake them off, but Jem and Will were Nephilim, and they would not be so easily deceived. The pair of them surfaced only a few moments after she did, the bubble that kept them safe underwater bursting on contact with the air.

Will spat foul water out of his mouth and swam toward the river's bank. He kept a hand in Jem's shoulder. Though he insisted that he was fine, Will could tell that the strain of swimming out of the river so quickly had taken a toll on him. On the bank, Greta was a dripping heap, her hair darkened to brown now that it was wet and fallen across her face. She watched Will and Jem swim to shore and did not try to run, having realized that there was no point in it.

"Why did you come here?" she softly asked as Jem and Will tried to dry themselves. The sun was of no use; all the smog from the factories made it so London was nearly always overcast.

"The Drought of Asteroidea," Jem said between pants, "We have reason to believe Mortmain used it to extend his life."

Greta nodded, her gaze fixed on the ground. Wearing that short, brown dress, she looked like a child being told off. Will regarded her - the clothes, demeanor, and scales - and reminded himself that he knew this girl.

"So," Will sheepishly said, "you have, uh, scales."

She nodded once again.

"And you glamoured them invisible?"

Another nod.

"Because you were certain the Council would think you a monstrosity otherwise," Jem finished for Will.

Greta vigorously nodded and brushed something away from her face. When she looked up, her eyes were brimming with tears. "I'm sorry," she choked out, "I lied to you. You were supposed to be my friends and I lied to you. You must hate me so much. I tricked you into thinking I was a true shadowhunter."

"Greta," Jem placed a steadying hand on her shaking shoulder, "I'm a drug addict. Will's father left the Clave to marry a mundane woman. Many wouldn't consider us true shadowhunters. We have no right to judge you."

She sniffled, "Truly?"

"Of course, Greta," Will said, "If you were our irritating, hyperactive friend before we knew you were a half fae, you will still be our incredibly irritating, hyperactive friend after."

In an instant, all the tears in Greta's eyes disappeared. A massive, childlike grin replaced it. She wrapped Jem and Will in a tight hug as she chanted: "Thankyouthankyouthankyou!" Finally releasing them, Greta twirled in the air and ran off, deliriously happy.


	21. The Gentleman

Broom in hand, Sophie swept brambles and foliage away from the walkway. Ahead of her, Thomas had brought the horses up front to feed as he picked muck out of their shoes. There was a slight chill in the morning, but it was nothing Sophie couldn't handle. The grime in the air caught in her throat and made her cough, but otherwise, she was absolutely fine. Will and Jem were nowhere to be found during breakfast, but that, too, was expected. Nothing was out of the ordinary that ordinary morning.

A horse-drawn carriage came to a stop before the Institute's gates. Thomas left his horses to let the carriage in. Sophie lifted her head up to see the new arrivals. The coach was exquisite - full, velvety curtains drawn across the windows, intricate, swirling patterns on the carriage, well-groomed, muscular horses - in a way that only served to let any onlookers know that it's owner was wealthy. It paused once again in front of the Institute's doors, and Gideon Lightwood stepped out of it.

Lessons weren't to begin until after lunch, but perhaps he had some other business to discuss with Charlotte. His brother definitely did yesterday. Sophie waited for him to come out after Gideon, but he never did. Why on Earth had he come to the Institute alone? He was holding a bunch of flowers, too, the kind you offered to apologize. Gideon placed a hand on the door's handle and was about to enter when his eyes wafted across the grounds and snapped to Sophie. He removed his hand from the doors and walked to where Sophie stood.

Sophie dropped her broom. She considered leaving and pretending she hadn't noticed him, but he had already seen her seeing him, so it would be the height of rudeness. Charlotte only allowed Sophie to speak to the Institute's wards in whichever tone she thought appropriate, not the world at large. But would it count if she didn't speak to him at all? Of course, it would count! Why did she insist on kidding herself? He would go to Charlotte the instant after she fled and complain about her behaviour, and Charlotte would have to make excuses for her idiot maid's actions. It would be best if she remained where she was and heard whatever he wanted to say. Anything else he wished to do to her he couldn't do out in the open, not while Thomas watched the two of them.

"Ms. Collins, I would like to apologize," he held the flowers out for her to take - they were for her. Sophie in all her life couldn't fathom an esteemed gentleman such as himself buying flowers for a lady's maid. It seemed terribly improper for her to accept them, but it would be much ruder for her to reject them since he had taken the time to go to a florist and request flowers for her.

She thanked him and gingerly took the flowers from him, trying to ensure that she never touched him. Despite her efforts, their fingertips brushed together. Sophie's heart rate spiked, an apology forming on the top of her tongue. When she looked up, she expected Gideon to look disgusted, but his expression remained unmoved.

"Whatever could you be apologizing for?" Sophie asked. Soft petals tickled the exposed skin of her hands, and their warm fragrance filled her lungs. She puzzled in her mind what to do with them - she couldn't leave them as is, they would wilt. It would be incredibly heartless of her to let these flowers die too easily, but would it be presumptuous of her to put them in a vase? If he was ever to see them, months on, he would think she was obsessed with him. Women like Jessamine probably had a system for dealing with flowers given to them, but Sophie couldn't remember the last time someone gave her flowers - even as an apology.

"For yesterday," Gideon's voice sounded choked. He was closely studying Sophie's face, "I am still not certain of what I did, precisely, but it put you in distress and that was never my intention. If you wish to continue with a different instructor, or perhaps learn another weapon, I would be happy to accommodate you."

"There is no problem with you - none at all," Sophie spoke quickly, "The only problem is with me, I assure you."

"Alright, then. Tell me it."

"You see, Mr. Lightwood," Sophie bite her lip. What to tell him? She couldn't tell him the truth, he would be horribly offended to learn that Sophie associated his touch with that of the man who took a knife to her face. He wouldn't understand that was how she reacted to any kind of touch - be it malicious or benign.

"I was... feeling poorly," Sophie said.

Gideon quirked an eyebrow, "Truly?"

"Yes, truly."

"I take it that you feel better now?"

"I do."

"And nothing like what happened yesterday will happen again?"

Sophie gulped, "Yes."

"Good. Very good." Though he still did not seem convinced, Gideon smiled at her. His grey-green eyes sparkled like the summer sea when he smiled. Sophie couldn't imagine why he didn't do it more often.

Gideon thanked her for speaking with him and headed inside the Institute. Sophie picked her broom up off the ground and took it, along with the flowers, back to her room in the crypts through the entrance around the back. She procured a rusted pot Agatha no longer used, filled it with water, and settled the flowers in it. At first, Sophie placed the flowers at the vanity, then the chest of drawers, finally placing it on her nightstand. It meant that whenever she woke in the morning, Sophie would think of Gideon, but perhaps that wasn't a bad thing.


	22. Disarray

To say Charlotte was furious when they arrived back to the Institute would be the greatest understatement of the age. She awaited their arrival the second they came through the gates, hands on her hips, bits of hair spilling out of her carefully calculated bun.

"Did you two have a nice stroll?" she said, her voice lathered in bitter sarcasm, "Don't let me ruin it for you, of course. All I did was go hysterical the whole morning, wondering who killed you two."

"We're sorry, Charlotte," Jem said, "we didn't mean to worry you so much." Will nodded in agreement.

Charlotte massaged her temples and gave a great sigh. "Go clean yourselves, you two. You're tracking filth on the floor and you smell ghastly."

Happy to get off without a grilling, Will raced to his room and had a bath run for him. By the time he got out of it, the water was blackened. He put on the first clean pair of clothes he could find and left his room with his hair still wet. Jem was waiting outside his room for him. For some reason, Jem always dressed quicker than him. He claimed it was because he worried less about vanity than Will. On their way to Charlotte's study, the parabatai ran into Sophia, who had a strange dreamy look on her face. She was moping up Jem and Will's filth but was somehow in such good humour all she did was glare at Will for it. Sophia did not have a glare for Jem, but that was expected. Will was convinced she had a personal vendetta against him.

Will was about to open the door to Charlotte's study when Jem swatted his hand aside, gave him a stern look, and knocked on the door. Charlotte's strained voice called for them to come in. The inside of the study seemed as if a storm had struck it; books were out of place (in Charlotte's study, this was a serious event), papers were strewn about, drawers were thrown open at random and left open presumably because something had caught her attention after opening the drawer that was so important the mere act of closing a drawer escaped her. As always, Charlotte fit perfectly into her study: something previously micro-managed that had fallen into anarchy. How was it possible that in the space of a day she had completely unravelled? Will felt even worse for their early morning excursion.

"At least tell me you've found something," Charlotte softly said.

"We did," Jem said, "A possible lead. What do you know of John and Anne Shade?"

"John and Anne Shade..." Charlotte muttered, pressing her fingers to the sides of her temples and squinting to try and recall, "Ah, yes. They were executed on the decree of Aloysius Starkweather for 'unnatural and illegal dealings with demons'. Apparently, they had a weapon that could destroy all Nephilim. None of it's proven since this was before the Accords and they were killed without trial."

"Aloysius Starkweather," Will said, "So this was in York?"

"Yes, but, I fail to see how they relate to Axel Mortmain..." Charlotte's eyes widened in realization, "Unless you mean..."

"The mermaid Arabella told us that she taught the two of them the recipe to a draught that allowed mortals to extend their lives," Will said, "And since Mortmain used the vampire trick, he must have found some way to extend his life."

"It's a possibility," Jem said, "None of it's for certain."

Charlotte nodded, understanding. She scribbled something on the document in front of her, "Alright. I shall go to Silent City and research the Shades at once."

"You need not go yourself, Charlotte," Jem said, "Will and I can go."

"I have something else for you two to do. Wait in the training room for further instructions."

Jem nodded and stepped out of the room. Will was about to follow him out, but then he paused and turned back to Charlotte and said, "Look at that, our early morning excursion helped with the investigation."

"I don't mean to disregard yours or James' skills, William, but you needn't stop my heart everytime you helped."

Soon after Jem and Will stepped into the training room, Henry came in followed by Thomas, Sophia, Agatha, and, unfortunately, the Lightwood brothers. Gabriel gave Will his perfected glare, so Will fired back with his own dark look. Gideon, upon seeing the exchange, sighed deeply.

Henry spread a document across the wall that Will recognized as the blueprints for automatons he and Ms Gray retrieved from de Quincey's manor. The ordeal at his ball seemed like it happened a lifetime ago. "While Mortmain is a threat," Henry said, "it is reasonable to assume that we will have to battle his automaton creatures. In the interest of preventing another incident like the one from two weeks ago, I've built automatons based on these for us to practice fighting." At that moment, a procession of crude humanoid machines came into the training room. "The automatons you will face will be wrapped in a human guise, but otherwise they are essentially the same."

Will drew a seraph and muttered the name of an angel, igniting the blade. Soon enough, he and Jem were back to back, prepared to take on these creatures. Agatha fumbled for her weapon and held it in an awkward manner, her great arms shaking. Sophia was clearly nervous but managed to keep a firm hold on her throwing knife, yet Gideon still insisted on rigidly standing by her side. Thomas was the best off compared to his fellow servants, which was understandable since he had trained beside Will and Jem for many years of his life. He, too, insisted on sticking close to Sophia. What a terrible injustice that Sophia, who was doing fine by herself and needed no help, had two men wanting to assist her, while Agatha, who clearing was in need, only had the begrudging Gabriel. Will cut the trio an incredulous look, wondered where on Earth Greta was, and speared his blade into the back of an automaton.

"Very good, Will," Henry said, "An automaton's wiring lays at its back. Destroying it will immobilize the machine."

"This is much easier than I anticipated it to be, I must say," Jem breezily said, relieving an automaton of its arms.

"Be careful not to become overconfident, Jem. In reality, these machines will have drills and spears, and even without them they possess strength double that of an ordinary man."

"You mistake me for Will, Henry." Will snorted.

Despite Henry's warnings, Will did feel himself becoming more blasé when it came to the automaton threat. These creatures were simply lumbering hunks of metal, while he was a child of the Nephilim, trained since before he approached adolescence in the art of combat. What fool would think to suggest that his and that great big bin's skills were comparable? Jem and Will worked through the automatons so the both of them were at the opposite side of the room to the others. It was rather unfair to evaluate them and the servants together. Even if Thomas had trained beside Will, he was neither a Nephilim nor did he have a parabatai, thus he could not be compared to them.

"Will," Jem suddenly said, "I feel that you are keeping something from me."

"What?" Jem's comment caused Will to lose track of the automaton he was dealing with, leading to the automaton striking Will on his side. Jem flinched and severed the creature's head from the rest of his body.

"Don't try to deceive me, Will. I can tell. I am your parabatai, after all. I've been feeling a strain on your mind for days now, and my suspicions were confirmed by your behaviour at the Mermaid's Realm. You've fallen in love, haven't you?"

"In love?" He could barely maintain his attention to fighting now. Will stepped back, "And who do you suggest I've fallen in love with?"

"I can't be sure of that, I'm afraid. But I tell you what, I share the same fate as you. I, too, have fallen in love."

"You have fallen in love? Whoever is the fortunate lady?"

"Why Ms Theresa Gray, of course!"

Any good parabatai would have been delighted to hear that, but Will felt that -- not just the words themselves, but the manner in which he said them, the jubilance, the certainty -- that Jem thrust his hands inside of Will's mind and showed him his deepest thoughts. Will saw Ms Gray as she was that day in the flower of dawn, the golden sunlight pooling in her hair, clinging to her features like an angelic silhouette. Her eyes intently upon the words of the book before her, Will almost couldn't bring himself to speak out of awe of her. He wanted to remain there forever and let her remain undisturbed, like a beautiful doe in a prairie.

"So tell me, Will, who have you fallen in love with?" Jem was saying. Inside of his mind, inside of his heart, scribbled on every cell of his body was one name, but he could not allow his tongue to speak to words. Tessa Gray! his mind shouted, his body shouted, every strand of his hair shouted. His hands trembled from the ghost of her touch. The woman your parabatai loves, the voice inside of his head shouted. Out the corner of his hair, he saw an ash-blonde woman enter the room --

"Greta!" Will cried, "I've fallen in love with Margaret Beryl Keeley."

"Oh, is that so?" Jem grinned, "Perhaps I should I expected it. You two share an... effervescence. That's that then, I suppose." He put away his blades and strode to where Greta stood, "We must tell her at once!" Will chased after him, horrified.

In his haste, Will knocked into Gideon, who in turn crashed into Sophia, sending her sprawling to the ground. Before he could utter a word of apology, Thomas was on his knees helping Sophia up and barking at Gideon.

"How dare you?" demanded he, "Her being below your station does not permit you to treat her however you wish!"

Jem, realizing the situation he had caused, put his initial mission out of his mind and stepped in. "This all is a fault of mine, you must forgive me. It was I who sent Lightwood off his balance."

With his eyes still narrowed at Gideon, Thomas hauled Sophia to her feet by the arm. The instant she was stood, Sophia snatched her arm out of Thomas' grip and cut a brief glare at him. Thomas, try as he might, did terribly hiding the hurt in his face.

"That- that is not the only issue at play," he said, "I mean what I said of him taking advantage of Sophia. Have you not seen how he sticks by her—"

"That is enough!" Sophia cried. Henry, who previously was blissfully unaware of the chaos unfolding within the room, jolted and stared. Sophia marched to the door and shortly barked, "Thomas, Mr Lightwood. Outside." Like a pair of misbehaving schoolboys, the two followed her out the training room.

"I suppose that is the end of this session," Henry said with a shrug, leaving the training room, too. Gabriel couldn't have been more relieved to hear that and vacated the room right behind Henry, followed soon after Agatha. Only Will, Jem, and Greta remained in the room. Upon seeing the idealness of their situation, Jem was at Greta's side in an instant. Will's throat contracted. Why had he been so foolish as to tell Jem he had fallen for Greta? He had to stop this before-- 

"Greta! I have the most wonderful news to tell you. Will has developed feelings for you!"


	23. Love is a Sickness

Sophie passed a measured glare over Mr Lightwood and Thomas. She studied her shoes as she waited for Mr Branwell, Agatha, and the other Mr Lightwood to pass by. The eldest Lightwood stood in front of her clenched and unclenched his fists and shifted his weight between his legs, clearly nervous. Thomas, in contrast, stared straight ahead at Sophie. With a sigh, Sophie turned to him and spoke, "I understand that you care for me, but that does not require you to treat me as if I were an infant child. Frankly, I find it rather insulting." 

Thomas looked as if she had spat on him. "Sophie, you wrongly interpret my concern! I would never venture to think that you were in any way below me. I simply want to ensure you don't get taken advantage of by someone who does not see you as equal." Lightwood grimaced. 

Sophie placed a hand on Thomas' shoulder but looked at Mr Lightwood as she said: "I can tell for myself if a gentleman respects my person or not." 

At hearing that, Thomas' jaw was set. He shot a glare at Mr Lightwood, then brushed Sophie's arm off him and thundered down the hall. Frowning slightly, Sophie watched as he went. The sound of a throat being cleared drew her attention back to Mr Lightwood. Behind her, Mr Carstairs, Mr Herondale, and Miss Keeley left the training room, too. The two of them were completely alone in the hallway. 

"Miss Collins, I would like to apologize for anything I might have done to offend you," Mr Lightwood breathlessly said. 

"I-- You haven't offended me, Mr Lightwood," Sophie looked down to mask the hint of red creeping into her features, "It was just me and my foolishness. Of course, you are a teacher, and if a pupil is underperforming it is your duty to--"

"Not at all, Miss Collins! Forgive me for cutting you short, but you are the most fantastic students I could ever be graced by. In comparison to even Nephilim women, who are born with fighting in their blood, you have taken to my teaching at an extraordinary pace." 

"Is that so...? I had merely conjectured from the many instances of you speaking in Spanish during our prior training session that you were saying something you'd rather I did not understand." 

"Of course not! In fact, I only speak Spanish when I am in a good mood." Gideon smiled at her again and Sophie had to look away, at which he frowned.

"Is something amiss, Miss Collins?" 

"No, nothing Mr Lightwood." Sophie bowed and fled from Gideon. 

 

Jem cast an uncertain look over Greta and Will. He tapped his cane absentmindedly against his leg, then announced that he would leave the two of them to sort their business. Will supposed that he expected them to decide on their engagement. 

For five years, the polite society of Nephilim decried that the two of them would never stop speaking, yet at that moment it seemed as if they had both forgotten the English language. Greta kicked around the rocks littered on the floor, and Will, determined to look at absolutely anything that wasn't her, admired the scenery of the Institute's grounds. 

They could not continues on like this forever. Eventually, one of them would have to break the silence, and Will dreaded being the one to do it. Why did he have to tell Jem he was in love with Greta? He was his parabatai, after all, sooner or later, Jem would figure out that Greta was not the woman he loved. This deception could not carry on much longer. But what was the alternative? Tell Jem that he was in love with the same woman as he? Sure, they were parabatai, but even a parabatai couldn't forgive something such as that. Knowing Jem's kind heart, he would forsake his feelings and encourage Will to pursue her. 

When he was certain she wasn't looking at him, Will let his eyes float over to Greta. Oh, Greta. He could have called her the sister he lost. In his soul, he knew he could not break her heart the way he had poor Tatiana Blackthorn's all those many years ago at the Christmas Ball. But whatever else could he do? He could not marry her. She was a bright, vivacious girl who deserved a man who loved her and was worthy of her. That man was not Will. 

"Would you like to go on a patrol?" Will asked, desperate for an end to the silence. Greta's head snapped up, surprised, as if she had forgotten he was there. 

"Henry's made a prototype of this device called the Sensor," Will went on, "It'll make patrolling much easier since it can detect a demonic presence. That's, at least, what the device is intended to do. He has yet to test it, but do you reckon we should give 'er a try?"

"Oh! Yes, yes, very good. Let's go on patrol." 

With that settled, the two of them reentered the Institute. Jem, who was seated near the entrance, glanced over his newspaper at Will, the question clear on his face. Will looked away from him. Greta and Will collected their weapons, and Will took a trip down to the crypts to fetch the Sensor from Henry, who was overjoyed at the prospect of it being field tested.  After informing Charlotte of their intentions, they headed out. 

They talked only of demon hunting, but try as he might, Will could not keep his mind focused on what was before him. Every time he caught sight of Greta his insides wound themselves into a knot, and there was that ever present, treacherous thought of Miss Gray at the back of his mind. He was a fool. Truly, he was. 

On and on they went. The sun fell from its throne in the sky and drowned beneath the horizon. Around them, the alleys grew narrower and filthier. Strangers stared at them from the darkness. Women with blush on their cheeks and jaundice in their bones roamed the streets. Still, the Sensor was silent. It seemed as if they could walk the length of London with hearing a word from the device. 

Will was all but prepared to declare the Sensor faulty when it whirled into life outside a downworlder pub. Greta and he exchanged looks. Will turned off the Sensor and tucked it into his back pocket. Looking both ways, he covertly peered into the den. It was a cramped space with peeling walls and dusty floors. The room was lined by cots for people to laze in as they indulged in one demonic drug or the other. A large amount of downworlders were congregated at the spot. Most of them were drunk and rather rowdy, loudly arguing and banging their fists against the tables. Will cut a look back at Greta, who was sitting on a wheelbarrow and fiddling with an instrument she found on the ground in an attempt to blend in. Though the Marks on her arms were invisible to any mundane onlookers, a den full of agitated downworlders would spot them in an instance. Will handed her his coat and, after he ensured his Marks were covered too, the two of them entered the den. 

"Five, you say?" one of the patrons said. His words were directed at the man at the head of the table, a man who looked to be around forty years of age dressed in motley clothing with overgrown hair and patchy facial hair. Will's senses told him that he was a werewolf. As Greta and Will slipped into a table around the shadows, the said: 

"Tis' true! I have slain five of those Nephilim bastards throughout my work!" 

Greta's face tightened and she widened her eyes at Will. In return, Will shook his head and patted her arm. He directed her attention to the tankard in the werewolf's hand, which was nearly drained to the last drop. The drink had given him the bravado to claim all sort of ridiculous things, nothing more. 

"You? Slain five Nephilim?" exclaimed a vampire at a table some way from the werewolf, "Why, could you imagine that lout slaying a fly?" He demanded of the mundane girl laying hapless in his arms, who giggled in response, though that was probably a result of the vampire venom in her system and had nothing to do with what he had asked of her. Satisfied with his answer, the vampire returned  to the important business of relieving the girl of all the blood in her body by sinking his teeth back into their well-worn indents on her neck. 

The werewolf threw his tankard and shouted at the vampire, who was completely unperturbed. Then the room was in uproar, with almost every person urging one of the men to teach the other a lesson. The few people sober enough to remember sense were drowned out. 

In the chaos, Will and Greta rose from their table and crept further into the pub. Will drew the Sensor out of his pocket. According to it, the source of the demonic energy was further inside. He gestured at Greta to follow him and went on. The Sensor was at its highest frequency when they came upon the pair of double doors at the back of the pub. Whatever was the source of the energy had to be behind it. There was a massive lock on it. Taking out a stele in such an environment was dangerous, they had to find another way to open the door. Will pointed at the lock and drew up his hands at Greta. Greta fished a pin out of her hair and, with a shrug, set to work trying to unlock the door. 

"Hey! What are you two doing?" A voice called. Will and Greta were seized by a nearby downworlder and brought before the braggadocios werewolf. The vampire he was quarreling with before was on the floor, wiping blackened blood off his face. Next to him, the mundane girl was playing with the tips of her hair, oblivious to anything that might have just happened. 

"Look at this," Will and Greta's captor said, pointing at Greta's shoulder. The coat had slipped off, revealing the inkling of a black line. He drew back the coat, revealing Greta's Marks to the entire pub. 

"Nephilim," the werewolf growled, "Why are you in this place?" 

"We mean no harm," Will quickly said, "We are simply trying to test a device mean to detect demonic energy." 

That was the wrong thing to say. Upon hearing that, several other downworlders stood up, enraged. "So you came into a downworlder pub?" the werewolf said. It wasn't a question. Now the patrons of the pub were calling for him to teach Will and Greta a lesson. The werewolf held up his hand to silence them and then, when they were silent, he turned back to Will and Greta and smiled. "You two wanted to see what was behind those doors? he sweetly said, "I'll show you."

The werewolf drew a pair of keys out of his pocket and set off toward the double doors. Every soul in the building was hushed in anticipation. Even the barkeep, who previously had been indifferent to all that occurred, set down the glass he was polishing to watch. Greta reached out for Will's hand and squeezed it. He had no choice but to hold it back, just as tightly. Another thought do Miss Gray whistled through his mind, this time of how her face lite up as she laughed at some silly thing he had said. 

The lock clattered to the ground and shattered Will's daydreams. The werewolf threw open the doors to reveal a set of automatons, brand new by the look of them. Will allowed himself to breathe. Automatons. He had battled automatons before. Why should these two be any different? Then the werewolf pressed a button on a remote device and that delusion was destroyed as the machines roared to life. 

The automatons had a strange scarlet mist about them, and they moved with unprecedented speed and ferocity. Without needing Henry to study the machines Will knew that, by some twisted marriage of science and magic, they had been imbued by demonic energy. But how? And where had the energy been obtained from? Will had barely a moment to think of those questions when an automaton charged at him.

Will threw himself across the room and crashed into the table of a warlock couple, who screamed and leapt away from him. A few feet from him, Greta struggled against the two automatons alone. Will gestured at her to try and get behind them, at which she only frowned. Of course. Will had become so accustomed to fighting alongside Jem that he had forgotten other shadowhunters didn't understand their signals.

Will reached for a seraph and muttered the name of an angel. The blade shone to life. He plunged the seraph into one of the automaton's backs, but it seemed oblivious to the destruction of his wiring. The other automaton,  tired of Greta, turned on a band of werewolves. The automatons didn't discriminate between Nephilim and downworlder, all they knew was to kill. And kill they did, as the first casualty of the night, an older werewolf man, crumpled to the ground after being relieved of his head. 

There was a resounding cry around the room. The werewolf who had set loose the automatons was gobsmacked. Suddenly there was a mad dash to get out of the pub. They hadn't thought that the automatons would attack downworlders, only shadowhunters. Greta's cries for everyone to remain calm were in vain. People were flinging themselves at the front doors, climbing and trampling over each other in an attempt to escape. In the process, they only made themselves easier targets for the automatons, who need only plunge a blade into the frantic crowd to kill. It was a massacre. Soon enough, Will and Greta were covered in blood that did not belong to them. 

Will climbed atop a table and leapt onto the back of an automaton. He jabbed his blades into the neck of the creature, but it made no difference. The automaton plucked Will off his back and held him in a vice-like grip. He was like a hapless child. Then, Will was swiftly brought down to meet the Earth.

Will was at the Institute's dinning table. Charlotte was gazing toward the doors, wondering aloud where in the world Will could be. Then there was a shooting pain in his temple and all attention snapped to him. "Jem?" Charlotte and Henry's watery voices chorused, "Are you alright?" 

Will's vision clouded, and when the veil lifted once again Greta's face was looming above him. When she saw that he was awake, Greta drew back and breathed a sigh of relief. Will straightened. They were on the banks of the Thames, miles away from the pub and automatons. There was a dull ache in his head. 

"What happened?" Will said. 

"The automaton gave you a terrible head injury. You wouldn't wake no matter how many iratze I drew. I only just managed to get you away from-"

"Away?" Will stood up, a terrible decision. A wave of nausea crashed over him, "So the automatons are still...?" 

Greta grimaced, "Yes, the automatons are still on the loose. I couldn't say how many people they've killed at this point," upon seeing Will's distressed look, she continued on saying, "I had to do it, Will. You could have died if I didn't." 

Will put his head in his hands and sighed heavily. "Well," Will said, "at the very least, we know that the Sensor works." 

"Mission accomplished?" Greta suggested.Will huffed a dry laugh and frowned again. 

"Come on, Will, all is not lost," Greta said, "We can bring a larger party of shadowhunters to deal with the automatons. It will all be alright in the end." 

"You should have left me," Will softly said. He thought of the mundane girl that vampire was feeding on, too drenched in the euphoria of vampire venom to care about the carnage around her. She was most likely dead. 

"Will!" Greta cried, and without warning, she hugged him. Will was too taken aback by the action to do anything about it. Then, as suddenly as she had thrown her arms around him, Greta drew back. She stared at the ground, unable to speak. Will felt as if they were back at the Institute's grounds, no, he wished they were back at the grounds. If he had been man enough to tell her his true feelings then instead of trying to ignore it and go on a patrol, none of this would have happened. 

"I-I'm horrified that you would suggest that," Greta slowly said, "The thought of leaving you never even crossed my mind. I care very much about you. You're-" Greta sneaked a glance up at Will, "you're a very important person to me." 

Will wanted to dive into the Thames and shatter his skull against the shallow rocks. "I care about you, too," he said. Just not in the way you want me to. 

Greta couldn't help the smile spreading across her face, "That is very good to hear." Before Will could say anything in return, Greta dove back into her mother's realm. 

Curse it all. Why did he have to tell Jem he loved Greta? Why couldn't he tell Greta that he didn't love her? And worst of all, why did he have to feel the way he did for Miss Gray? Now Greta, who clearly felt for him, thought that he felt for her, too. She would expect a proposal one of these days, and when it did not come, what would she think? He remembered Mrs Blackthorn's face when he read her diary for all the London Enclave. Will did not want to break her heart, and he certainly did not want to break Greta's heart, but he knew that was a better alternative than to love and be loved by him. He was a cursed man, and he did not deserve to be loved by Greta or Mrs Blackthorn, and most of all, he did not deserve to be loved by Miss Gray.


	24. A Familiar, Unfamiliar Face

After her conversation with Mr Gray, Jessie didn't expect to ever be let out of the room until she caved to his demands, but he continued to surprise her. Three days following their meeting, an automaton girl appeared in her room once more, pulled back the heavy, lace curtains on the window, and announced, in her tinny, pre-programmed voice, that Jessie had the freedom of the manor and its grounds. Jessie waited for her to add as long as she agreed to the terms, but that clause never came and the girl left the room. Another automaton girl arrived in the room after her and said that she was her lady's maid for as long as she remained at the manor. A procession of automatons carrying illustrious dresses bearing voluminous skirts, rich colours, and intricate patterns followed after the lady's maid, and the lady's maid requested to know which one Jessie wished to wear today. If there were none that matched her tastes, the maid added, the master would have that rectified immediately. Jessie picked at random one with a white, frilled bodice and a layered blue skirt, and as the lady's maid drew a bath, another automaton brought her breakfast. Though it was comprised of a golden bread and eggs, jam tarts, and fresh fruits, Jessie had no stomach for the food. What was the cost of all these luxuries? They certainly couldn't be given to her for free.

When she was washed and dressed, the automaton girls left, except for the lady's maid, who seated herself at a plush, tan, armchair near Jessie's door and informed her that she would be there whenever she wanted her. Jessie did not like having to refer to her as 'the lady's maid', and she asked her if she had a name. She did not answer. Defeated, Jessie left the room and the manor building as soon as she could.

The smell of shrubbery and distant pollution had never been so sweet. Jessie had never given much thought to how Miss Gray must have felt after being freed from The Dark House, and now she knew exactly the emotion. It was like a veil being pulled away from your body, feeling the fragrant hair flowing through your hair and caressing your skin. The manor's grounds were wide and lush, shrubs trimmed to the shapes of swans and doves and animals from the east. Downturned bell flowers and pale flowers tinted by hints of red or purple in beds glistened in the sunlight with dew sprinkled on their petals. The mangled automaton guards marking the perimeter contrasted terribly with the beauty they surrounded.

As much as Jessie appreciated the beauty of the grounds, there was not much to do other than look at the scenery. She suspected that if she were mundane, she could be entertained for hours at an end by the mere beauty of it, but since she was cursed by a shadowhunter's brain, she soon found herself growing uninterested. Jessie was beginning to turn away and return inside when she spotted the sunlight gleaming off something dark and glossy, then soon she saw a girl stood by a clothesline. For a moment Jessie puzzled over if the girl was a human or automaton, but the moment she turned so Jessie could see her, and she caught sight of the girl's eyes, and she knew at once that she was human. The girl was small, almost fragile looking, like a fine china doll, porcelain skin, gleaming black hair and large, deep, blue eyes.

"Are you a human?" the girl called. Her voice was strangely commanding for someone of her build, "Don't answer; I can tell you are. Your eyes are far too pretty. Could you come over here?"

Jessie did as the girl asked. The girl held up Jessie's discarded gear and fixed her with an overt gaze, "Is this yours?"

"It is," Jessie despised having to say that.

The girl looked from the gear to Jessie, "I can't imagine you wearing something like this."

"Neither can I," Jessie bit her lip, "But unfortunately, I have."

"You don't like fighting, I take it." Jessie nearly gasped. How did this girl know what gear was meant for? Was she a shadowhunter? There weren't any marks on her skin that Jessie could see, though Jessie was shadowhunter, too, and her skin was bear of those barbaric etchings. The girl went on, asking if Jessie was from the London Institute, and reacted to her answer of yes with an overly nonchalant nod of her head, almost as if she was faking coolness. She handed the dried gear back to Jessie and went on to explain that she and her family were custodians of the manor, and they lived in the west wing of the manor. No, they did not command the automatons, and neither did they know what 'the master' was planning by allowing her to roam the manor as she wished.

After she exhausted things to say, the girl began to leave, but then a thought came to Jessie. She asked the girl what her name was, and when she answered, Jessie already knew, by her high cheekbones and the fire that resided within her delicate figure, that she would answer: "Cecily Herondale."


	25. A Change of Heart

Though even at the best times the London Enclave caused misery in his soul, Will still found himself amazed by the new lows they reached for everyday. New reports of the carnage left in the Demonic Automaton's wake came in everyday, and they were ghastly detailed. At times, the author seemed close enough to the creature to count its individual wires. It all begged a question: why were they not intervening? The Nephilim might stammer out an answer blaming 'nerves cold with fear' or 'the risk of exposing the Shadow World' or some other rubbish when Charlotte directly questioned them, but the real reason was very clear. 

Lightwood was chuffed to bits when Will and Greta relayed the story of how the automaton escaped during the council meeting. He was even more delighted to hear that one of Henry's inventions was responsible for them being there. No matter how much Greta tried to explain that the Sensor worked exactly as it was meant to, and that the cause of the problem was human error and a fault of communication, Lightwood could not be stopped in his degradation of Henry and his brilliant mind. Apparently, in the wonderful world of Benedict Lightwood's creation, a man inventing a functioning device which would aid Nephilim in their work was a thing to be deplored. The poor eldest Lightwood, cursed by the Angel to have to be seated next to him, looked splotchier every minute his father spoke. It was a pity the Íñiguez family of Madrid did not take him as his ward when he lived with them, or he would never have to bear the chagrin of sitting next to that wretched man ever again. 

As much as he despised Lightwood, Will knew that he was a wealthy man, and of the power and influence held by wealthy men. Those below them would do anything in their power to gain his favor. If one of those things meant standing idly aside as a nightmare-like amalgamation of machine and demon caused terror through the land, then so be it. Combating the automaton would mean removing another situation that made Charlotte appear weak, and that was unacceptable. Any innocent mundane lives lost in the process were simply collateral damage. 

Bright and early on a dull and ashen morning, a Nephilim handed Will another report of an automaton attack in the East End. Try as he might to read it, the grey sunlight that forced its way through those clouds above was not sufficient for him to make out the words. The hand it was written in was clumsy and uneven, but he couldn't ask for expert penmanship when taking into consideration what was actually written. Will tucked the report in his waistcoat and thanked the man for it, who in return made a grim expression and turned away from him. 

Inside the Institute, Charlotte was disregarding her breakfast in favor of her own troubling document. One hand on her temple, she read through it many times over. Will took his place next to Jem and handed him the report. He hadn't the stomach to read it. 

"Lottie, dear," said Henry, placing a hand on Charlotte's arm, "Are you quite alright? Is something the matter?" 

With a considerable sigh, Charlotte set down the document and massaged her temples. "This," She said, tapping the paper, "is a letter from Aloysius Starkweather." 

Henry blanched. The friendship between Aloysius Starkweather and Granville Fairchild - Charlotte's father - and it's subsequent collapse was a subject well known by those of the London Enclave. Starkweather, being the exceedingly reasonable individual that he was, had decided that his grudge against father should carry on to daughter, too. Inter-Institute communication was strained by this. 

"What does it say?" asked Jem.

Charlotte glanced down the letter once more. Another sigh. She shook her head. The words 'I don't understand' could be faintly heard. She started anew: 

"If you'll recall, I had called for records on the Shades from the Silent City a few days ago. As fate would have it, the two had a son. An adoptive mundane son by the name of Axel." 

So Jem and he had been right in their suspicions. Will had to keep himself from smirking. In normal circumstances he would have made some insufferable quip about his correctness, but today he bit his tongue. Taking Charlotte's black mood into consideration, it would be a wonder if Sophie would be able to scrape the bits of his flesh off the ground in time for the Lightwoods' arrival for lessons. And if they were to find that Charlotte had brutally slain one of her own wards, it would make her look terrible in the eyes of the Council. 

"John and Anne Shade were killed in a shadowhunter raid - there was no trial, of course, this was before the Accords - leaving young Axel orphaned. Once he was a man, he filed for Reparations against the York Institute, but his request was disregarded." 

"Actions such as those don't tend to breed warmth in a man's heart," Will muttered. 

"Why were the Shades raided?" asked Jem. 

"John was suspected of creating humanoid machines intended to exterminate Nephilim. Mortmain filed for Reparations on the basis that Anne was unaware of his actions and was therefore killed unjustly." 

"Automatons," Will said. 

"That's all very good, dear," Henry said, "but why do you have a letter from Starkweather? And why does it vex you so?" 

Charlotte pursed her lips. "I wrote to him hoping to learn more about the case and of any suspicious going-ons. York is Mortmain's home, so I thought he might have retreated to it. I didn't think Starkweather would tell me anything but to know my place, but I had to try. His reply just arrived this morning and..." 

"Has he told you something very troubling?" Jem said, "Have we lost this trail?" 

"No, he-" Charlotte placed her head in her hands, "-he invited us to the York Institute to investigate further." 

"Pardon me?" Will said, "Charlotte, will you be needing reading glasses?" 

"I have read it over several times, and every time this combination of words tells me that Aloysius Starkweather has invited us to the Yorkshire Institute," Charlotte thrust the letter into Will's hands, "Go on! Read it for yourself and tell me that my eyes lie! I shall be relieved if you do, in truth." 

Starkweather's letter read:  
Dear Mrs. Branwell 

I was rather surprised to find this letter from you in my possession. Of course, I should have assumed that it would be work related correspondence, but it was heartening to know that the Fairchild family still remembers the name Starkweather. 

As it pertains to the contents of your letter, I have not observed a considerable rise in suspicious activities around these parts. The werewolves, warlocks, and others of their sort continue to be a nuisance, but we cannot track down every rabid dog and civilize it. Myself and my men should not be expected to be able to chaperone them all, and in their staggering numbers, too. I suppose we should thank all those mundane whores, drunks, and miners for their increase in numbers. They wander about at the most absurd hours of the mind, completely alone. Why, they might as well hurl themselves at the werewolves and vampires! 

As for the Fae, there is not much to be said. They keep to themselves, amongst their kind, and in their realms. By far, they are the nearest to humanity of all the Downworlders. It should be expected; they do have the blood of angels in their veins, after all, though it is stained by the blood of demons, too. As such, one should never truly let his guard down when faced by a Fae, as I am sure you already know of their penchant for treachery. 

If I were to speak of the greatest plague on Yorkshire, I must point to the warlocks. While Fae have angelic blood and the children of the night and moon once were men with the capacity to Ascend, the warlocks are cross breeds born of insanity and treachery. For who else could lay with a demon but a woman tricked or a woman insane? The warlocks hide their twisted faces behind their veils of deception and muddy our lands with their demonic magics. Take it from a man who has spent long policing these ingrates, there is no scum worse than a loose warlock. A leader who seeks to bring peace to his people must at all times maintain strict control over his most loathsome charges. 

Beside the ever-present trouble with Downworlders, I must say, things at the York Institute are rather well. You will be pleased to learn that we raided another ifrit den rather recently and seized all of their illegal substances. We found fifty-four high ranking Downworlders were involved in the den, along with a few Nephilim, too! It is a nasty business, these demonic drugs. Even our own Nephilim have found themselves caught in the dastardly trap of demonic drugs. There was Carigae, Martas, and Yin Fen, too. If I remember correctly, that's the vice of your Chinese boy's choice. I have known of many Nephilim who gave themselves over to substances, but none as openly as that ward of yours. Perhaps they have different approaches to these things over there than we do here in Britain. 

In any case, I cannot express how pleased I was to receive your brief, businesslike letter, dear Charlotte, though I was a bit taken aback by its contents. Why on earth would you ask me of how matters are in Yorkshire when there is so much disarray in your own London? News travels slowly to Yorkshire, but I do recall hearing that ward of yours, Herondale I believe, had unleashed an unruly automaton on the East End! Word says that it was an accident, but take heed when it comes to lads like him. He strikes me as the kind who would find setting a a bloody thirsty instrument of death upon the populace to be a delightful prank. I do recall warning you against taking in strays, but you would not listen to me. Now look what you have! A useless girl who gets herself captured, a drug addict, and an ungrateful delinquent. Why, your Institute was home to a Downworlder abomination for a time, too! It boggles the mind. I wonder if there is any person of sense still residing in the London Institute! 

If you ever do find your hands freed of the filth dirtying them, I suppose it wouldn't be horrible for you to come to the York Institute to investigate. Like I'd stated before, we haven't anything indicating a syndicate of any sort, but you might want to have a look in any case. It is never bad for one to see the world around him, after all. 

Your humble servant,  
Aloysius Starkweather

"That's about what I expected old Starkweather would write," Will said.

"It's mad, isn't it? The nerve on him," Charlotte hissed, "'Heartening to know that the Fairchild family still remembers the name Starkweather' - as if I were the one who pushed him away and not he! Not that I want anything to do with him, mind you. Did you see those frankly barbaric things he said of Downworlders? It was men like him who wept when The Accords were signed. Why that wretch - the absolute slime of a man. 'Wonder if there is any person of sense still residing in the London Institute'-"

"So I see you've memorized the letter, then." 

Jem took the letter from Will to read for himself. As his eyes went down the page, his lips grew more and more pursed. "It is most definitely not a masterclass in human decency," he said at last, setting it down. 

"He insulted you and I, Miss Gray, Jessie, and Charlotte, didn't even deign to mention Henry - and then begged us to come to York." 

"I wouldn't say begged, precisely. It seemed more like an afterthought." 

"That's what he wanted you to think, dear James. For a man like Starkweather, the mere suggestion that things are not in pristine shape is highly degrading. He could not have been more clear in his meaning if he prostrated himself before us and begged us to come." 

"That much is true," Charlotte said. She tapped her finger on the table, "The question is, shall we?" 

"I say we go," said Will, "I, for one, would adore to see how scandalized he would be when we find the rotten crevices of his beloved Yorkshire." 

"Well you're definitely not going to York." 

Will threw up his hands, "This is discrimination of the highest order!" 

"You've your hands full with the automaton, if you recall. Or do you intend to leave that to Greta?" 

Greta. Will had done his best to avoid her ever since the incident, when she made it all but clear that she was in love with him. When they relayed their stories of the automaton to the Enclave during the council meeting, he had no choice in standing next to her, yet looked anywhere but at her. No such attempt was made on her part. She stared at him without discretion, and her eyes felt like pin pricks on the bad of his next. It took all he had not to turn around, to see her face and what expression she had on. Were her features awash in love, or were they chiseled into hurt? At the end, he left before she could say a word, and Will saw from the window outside that she stood within the circle for long after the council chamber was empty.

"You'll have to take care of the automaton, and Jem will go to York," said Charlotte, "I am certain that Jem's sweet temper will be much more agreeable to him than yours." 

Both Jems and Will shot to their feet. 

"With all due respect, Charlotte," Jem said, "I cannot agree to that arrangement." 

"And neither can I," added Will. 

"William - my parabatai, if you'll recall - is like a child without me. We have fought side by side for so many years that he simply does not remember how it was like to fight as a solitary soldier." 

Will glared Jem, who in turn gave him a significant look. 

"Uh, he's absolutely right, Charlotte," Will said, "I am useless without my parabatai." 

"So we would appreciate it if you were not to separate us. Due to us being parabatai."

"We are parabatai, aren't we? And you do know what is said of parabatai; they must never be separated." 

"You need not remind me of the fact that you are parabatai, I can recall," Charlotte touched a hand to her forehead, "It gives me no pleasure to separate you two, believe me, but it must be done. I cannot go and neither than Henry. It must be one of you. And the both of you can't go because of the automaton situation. I am so very sorry." 

Jem sat back down, defeated. Charlotte placed one hand on Jem's shoulder and the other on Will's, "It will only be for a short time," she ruffled Jem's hair, "Go pack your things." 

And with that, breakfast was considered over. Everyone stood up to take on whatever activity they were assigned to and Sophia arrived to clear away the plates. 

Jem handed Charlotte the automaton report and stood to leave for his bedroom. When Will caught him on his way out, he shrugged and said, "Well, it was worth a try, I suppose." 

"In which world was it going to work? This is Charlotte. And why did I have to be the useless one, in any case?" 

There was a twinkle in Jem's eye, "It had to be believable, didn't it?" 

"Ha ha," Will smacked Jem on the shoulder, "It's a laugh a minute with James Carstairs." 

Jem performed an exaggerated bow, "That's very kind of you to say, good sir." 

"Get out of my sight, you swine." 

Jem, grinning from ear to ear now, mimed lifting up his top-hat in farewell and bound up the stairs. Just as his figure slipped from Will's vision, voices in argument approached him. He turned to see the three tutors in the main foyer, heading to the staircase. Gabriel was teasing Greta about the automaton incident, as he had done for far too many days, while the other two wore stony masks of annoyance. It would have been understandable to tease her about the incident a day after, and perhaps two or three days past might have been acceptable as well, but Gabriel had long reached the point of banality. Even Will, who was in no way above teasing himself and would have happily accepted the abuse after the incident, knew that a joke was never funny twice. 

Upon spotting Will, Gabriel's face brightened, and he was in the process of changing his direction for him when the three of them were intercepted by Charlotte. She, folding away the report and storing it in a pocket on her person, said, "It's dreadful news, isn't it? The automaton. Would any of you be willing to join a hunting party for it?" 

"The automaton is dreadful, yes," said the younger Lightwood, "and the havoc it wrecks on the people of London do to none other's fault but yours and your own Nephilim. Keeley and Herondale were under your orders when they freed it. The task to neutralize it lies on no one's shoulders but your own. You can't hope to ask others to clean your mess." 

"Regardless of whoever's 'mess' it is," the elder Lightwood said, "our duty as Shadowhunters is to protect mundanes, and that creature harms them. This heavenly mandate comes before all else. I would be delighted to join the hunting party." 

As Charlotte thanked him profusely, Lightwood's attention was elsewhere. His eyes were fixed on someone beyond her. Will followed his eye line to Sophia, who was frozen at the threshold of the kitchen. She, too, was staring rather intently at him, and her face was awfully pink. He smiled at her and Sophia, at apparent loss for what to do, swiftly ducked into the kitchen. Gideon pursed his lips slightly, then quickly assumed a neutral expression.!

"And of course I, too, will join," said Greta. 

"Thank you, Greta," said Charlotte. She turned to Gabriel, "And I take it from what you said before that you will not be joining?" 

Gabriel glared at his older brother, who would not meet his eye, then back at Charlotte. "On second thought, I think it might be more prudent if I were to join, too," he said through gritted teeth. 

"Oh! You do?" Charlotte's eyes widened, "Why that's wondrous news. How very good of you!" 

"Right," said Gabriel, jaw set, "I think we ought to begin with training."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there! Sorry this chapter took soooo long to come out. It's because a) it's kinda long (was actually meant to be longer but I moved parts to another chapter so this one could eventually be finished) and took me a while to write, edit, and proofread. And b) school is kicking my butt right now. I've got a lot of other writing work to do for school and all that so I've had to prioritize. I'm still going to try and have at least one new chapter out every month but there will be months that I might miss and I'm very sorry about that! Thank you all so much for reading this story!


	26. Twisted Every Way

"Oh, he's cross with me, Agatha," Sophie muttered as she peered out of the training room.

"No he's not! Why would he be?" Agatha said, shaking her head, "You didn't say a damned thing!"

"Precisely!" 

"Why should you care if Lightwood's cross with you or not?" said Thomas. 

"She can be fussed about whatever she pleases, you miserable tyke." 

Sophie bunched her hair in her hands. How could she have been so rude to him? She knew he liked her and if he liked her then she had to smile at him when he smiled at her. Had she already forgotten what happened when she didn't do that?

"Stop that! You will hurt yourself," Agatha pried Sophie's hands off her scalp. 

"I'm sorry," Sophie said. 

Agatha patted her shoulder, "Never-mind. You mustn't let this eat away at you. Go busy yourself with something else." 

Sophie nodded and turned to the wall of weapons. She recalled Mr. Lightwood mentioning something about getting started on swordsmanship during their last session. As such, she picked the sword that appeared lightest off the wall and swung it a bit, presumably to 'get a feel for it'. Mr. Carstairs and Mr. Herondale described using new blades in that manner. That must mean that every blade, every weapon has a different 'feel' to it - every weapon was different to wield. And if the Lightwoods' purpose was to sufficiently teach self defense to them, that must also include proficiency in every weapon, or a working knowledge, at least. Just taking into account the weapons on display in the training room, this would take a very long time. It could be possible that she would have lessons with Mr. Lightwood for years to come. The thought brought a strange twinge to Sophie's chest. She could not be sure if she enjoyed it. 

The three instructors eventually entered the room. Agatha and Thomas immediately went to work on their swordplay. Mr. Lightwood came to stand by her. He plucked the blade out of her hand and smiled. 

"A valiant effort, but what you previously held in your hand is a flat knife and not a sword." 

Sophie reddened considerably, at which Mr. Lightwood laughed and shook his head. 

"There's no need for mortification, Miss Collins!" He removed a proper sword from the wall and handed it to Sophie. 

The lesson went on as they usually did: Mr. L would demonstrate a move for Sophie, she would try to replicate it, and then he would correct her if she erred or congratulate her when she succeeded. A while in, dummies were brought out for them to practice on. Sophie quickly got ahold of how the weapon was used. She allowed herself to briefly imagine how sweet the look on Mr. Herondale's face would be if she were to best him with his own weapon. 

"Very good, Miss Collins," Mr. Lightwood remarked on seeing her sword work, "But there is a great deal of difference between fighting a wooden man and a man of flesh and blood." 

"Then what point is there in fighting a wooden man? Perhaps I should just go straight to fighting a flesh and blood man." 

Mr. L quirked an eyebrow. "Who do you mean to fight?"

"Why, Mr. Lightwood, are you not a man of flesh and blood?" 

At this he was truly shocked: "Miss Collins, you cannot possibly mean to spar with me after a morning of training with a blade. I have spent my life, for as long as if can remember, in the company of swords. I do not mean in any way to undermine you, but it simply would not be a fair match. Do not be insulted." 

Of course, what Mr. Lightwood was saying made perfect sense, and Sophie was touched that he tried to phrase it in a respectful manner instead of outright berating her for being a mundane and servant. However, Sophie wanted very much to spar with him. He had not mentioned her coldness towards him earlier that day, and seemed unable to say one unkind word to her. She wanted to see if his serene temperament was only for the benefit of others or his true self. 

Or, perhaps the vision of skewering Mr. Herondale had filled her with such euphoria that she had lost all of her inhibitions. 

"What makes you so certain?" 

"I, well - probability - experience - common sense-"

"But you cannot know for certain-" Sophie took a similar looking blade off the wall and handed it to Mr. L, "- unless you try it. You must test your hypothesis in order to prove it true." 

Mr. Lightwood, in the end, relented, and, smirking slightly, accepted the sword Sophie offered him. Three was counted down to, and in his first move Mr. Lightwood struck Sophie's hilt at an angle that sent it flying out of her hands and, with superior footwork, tripped her so she fell backwards. 

"As I've just proved," he began, leaning down to help Sophie to her feet, "someone who had learnt swordplay for one afternoon cannot hope to best -"

But Sophie was not yet finished. As Mr. Lightwood neared her, she folded her arms and legs and used them to launch herself forward. Mr. Lightwood's eyes widen to the size of paperweights as she pinned him to the ground. Now it was Mr. Lightwood's turn to be mortified. Though she could feel his hardened muscles through the fabric of the gear he wore, Sophie was determined to be indifferent towards them. 

"What is it that you were saying?" Sophie asked in a sing-song voice. 

"That was not - swordplay," was all he could manage. 

"Ah, yes, but if this were a real fight, I would have, in this instant, either killed or seriously incapacitated you. After all, you must remember," Sophie wagged her finger in his face as if he were her misbehaving pupil, "a simple spar is much different from a real fight."

Recognizing his own words twisted against him, Mr. L leaned back his head and let himself laugh heartily. It was one of the sweetest sounds Sophie had ever heard. 

"Well done, Miss Collins!" He said as Sophie pulled him to his feet, "Besides his fighting skill, a Nephilim warrior must also have his wits about him at all times and be ready to improvise. You would have made a fine shadowhunter."

He still held her hand. 

"Are you not at all horrified at having been bested by a mundane?" 

"Miss Collins, if I must be bested by a mundane, I could only hope that mundane be you." 

The other four people in the room, who's existence Sophie and Mr. Lightwood had all but forgotten about, were staring at them. Thomas seemed as if he might explode, while Agatha was eying Mr. Lightwood out the corner of her eye and the younger Mr. Lightwood looked confused. Miss Keeley, who Sophie usually found incomprehensible and careless, had watery eyes and her lips were pursed. She seemed - pained. Sophie had never seen such an earnest expression on her face and it disturbed her. 

Mr. Lightwood dropped her hand, announced that lessons for the day were over - despite there being a good half hour of time remaining - and, with a quick look at Sophie, briskly left the training room. The other two tutors trailed after him. 

Thomas was by Sophie at once. "Could you please come with me for a minute?" 

"Why? I must help Agatha with cooking." 

"Please," he sounded breathless, "it cannot wait. It's a matter of - utmost importance." The features on Thomas' face were drawn tightly. He seemed to truly be in distress. 

"Alright," Sophie said, "But make it quick." 

"Thank you," he breathed out, and hurried out of the room, intending for her to follow. Sophie exchanged a look with Agatha and went after him. 

Thomas led her the back of the Institute, into the grounds. He was pacing agitatedly when Sophie approached him. 

"What is this about?" She asked. 

Thomas took Sophie's hand in his own and placed it over his heart, "You are in a hurry, so I shall make it quick. Sophie Collins, I am in love with you." 

Sophie blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

"You heard me well enough. I'm hopelessly in love with you, Sophie Collins. If I were a poet I could write you beautiful lines detailing how I feel for you, but I am only a mundane with a sight, so I must quantify my unquantifiable feelings for you with my simple words. You are the most remarkable woman I have ever come across in my life. I knew you were a fighter when I first looked upon your lovely face and saw that scar, but in time I learned of your goodness, your loyalty, your diligence, too. You have boldness that Nephilim woman - and many Nephilim men, too - could only ever aspire to. I could travel all the lands on this green earth and never come across anyone as fantastic as you. I am in love with you and I never want to be apart from you." 

Sophie cleared her throat. She wanted so badly to demand he not waste her time with frivolous jokes, but she knew from the expression on his face, and the tone of his voice that it was no joke. 

"What will it be, my dearest Sophie - for that is what you are to me - do you accept my affections? Would you do me the honor of loving me, too?"


	27. In a Place of Misery

The sky was grey and overcast when Jem, Will, and Thomas arrived at the train station, though it was that way about ninety per cent of the time in London, so that wasn't worth remarking upon. Jem tapped his jade-tipped cane on the ground as he waited for Will to catch up. Though he assured him that he did not need it, Will insisted on carrying Jem's things.

"Do you regret your chivalry yet?" Jem called after him.

"Absolutely not!" Will called back.

Jem turned back to the train track and rolled his eyes. It really was typical of Will to do something like this. The bags weren't all that heavy, but Will wanted to carry them for Jem anyway. Though Will said it was because he was going on a tiring trip and should conserve his strength, Jem knew the real reason why.

"Here we are!" Will said, setting down the suitcases and pretending to wipe the sweat off his brow.

"I could have done as much myself."

"Of course you could," Will checked the time on the great clock in the station, then said, "Have you packed enough yin fen for the trip?"

There it was. "I have, Will, and I could do without you treating me as if I were a hapless boy."

"I'm most certainly not treating you as if you were a hapless boy, I've simply asked you a question. Capable gentlemen ask each other questions for clarification on their work, and what are we if not the most capable young gentlemen in Great Britain?" 

Jem rolled his eyes, "Come off it. Must I remind you that not ten minutes ago you were whinging about having to separate for an entire three days, Mr Capable Gentleman."

Will threw up his hands. "And what of it? I am a man, am I not? I have a right, nay, a duty  to decry injustices." 

"It's a pity that you decided to take up the life of a shadowhunter, William Whinge-dale, for the theatre lost a great actor in you." 

At once, their ears were attacked by a great rattling sound. Plumes of smoke blew across the land and a great contraption of metal came to a halt before them. 

"Well," Jem said, careful not to breathe the air, "It seems we must part."

"Indeed," Will pursed his lips. Jem bent down to lift his suitcase when Will grabbed his arm and said, "I must whinge one last time before you go. I still very much dislike this." 

"I like it no more than you do, but this is the way things must be," he smiled, "Don't worry, Will. We all know what a pleasant man old Starkweather is."

Will smiled back and clapped him on the shoulder, "I only hope that you may find it in your heart to disengage with the gaiety you shall enjoy in York to return to droll old London."

Jem boarded the train and found himself a compartment. When he sat down, he couldn't help but sigh. Though he loved Will dearly, sometimes he felt like a burden on him. Will was a young man and full of life. He wished to galavant across London without a care, slaying demons and winning the hearts of ladies, while Jem was an old man at age seventeen. Colourless from top to bottom, needed constant rest, medicine, had to be looked after. It was something that was first whispered around when they became parabatai, was still talked about today and had wedged itself into Jem's mind: why would someone like Will Herondale want to play caregiver for a sickly parabatai?

Jem was broken out of his thoughts when there was a noise outside his compartment. He looked to see a young girl holding a copy of Pride and Prejudice being chastised by her mother. The girl's mother made an apologetic face at Jem and dragged her daughter away. The book that the girl held in her hand brought back a memory of not too long ago, when a woman of marble skin and deep chocolate eyes told him that it was one of her favourites, and from then on, the seed of that memory burst into a gigantic tree that broke through his mind and eradicated any thought that wasn't of Miss Gray.

When he first saw her during that dark night as he played his violin on the bridge, her pale skin had rendered her bioluminescent, so she shone with a light of her own like an angel. She had seemed to him like one of the fine vases his mother prized, beautiful, deftly made, and extremely fragile. But, all illusions of fragility were lost when he saw the bravery, the warrior-like resolve that hide behind her porcelain mask. When he saw her again at de Quincey's estate, as the mirage of Lady Belcourt slipped off of her, he saw a different woman. There was debris lodged in her wild, dark hair and, as she held her brother to her chest, a fierce look in her eyes that challenged anyone to take him away from her. Daylight had brought colour back to her skin and exercise had brought colour to her cheeks. At that moment, Jem knew she was not an angel. She was a woman. A warrior woman like Boudicca. Though she had never laid hand on a weapon before that night, her spirit had fight in it, a silent strength that emanated off her wherever she went. At that moment, Theresa Gray claimed James Carstairs' heart as her own as simply as she tucked a loose strand of her hair behind her ear as she read.

Cradled by the serene countryside rolling by him, Jem fell asleep to the constant hum of the train and dreamt sweet dreams of angels and warrior women.

Jem awoke to another grey sky and the train arriving at the station of the walled city of York. He retrieved his luggage and pushed his way through the crowd, out of the coach. Outside, he was greeted by a large man, thick of neck, wide-shouldered, and mostly bald. Without a word to Jem, the man took charge of his bags and inclined his head toward the exit of the station.

"Do you work for Aloysius Starkweather?" Jem asked. The man grunted in response, which Jem took as an affirmation. A horrible feeling came over him - this was what he would be hearing for the entirety of his stay there. Between Starkweather and this manservant of his, Jem's days would be filled with sour looks and grunts. He was seized by the want to re-board the train and return to London, but duty bound him to be here. His heart weighed fifty stone when he embarked on the carriage.

The York Institute, which was known to the mundane populace as the Holy Trinity Church, was much smaller than the London Institute. Rather unremarkable, it was enclosed in walls, and Jem had to step around a cascade of candles in the front of the door to enter. On the inside, the Institute wasn't much more inviting. It was damp with mould growing on the cold stone walls. Stained glass windows - which had once been elegant, depicting the Angel Raziel rising out of Lake Lyn in kaleidoscopic colours - were now discoloured and covered in grime. The pews held witchlight tapers in blackened iron holders. Their light fogged through the room and illuminated little. Jem had to squint the minute he stepped in. 

The man pointed Jem in the direction of supper and went up the stairs with Jem's bags. Even without the directions, Jem could have found the dining room rather easily. It was a small enough building that you could traverse the entirety of the floor in a few paces. Regardless, Jem did as he was bid and found himself in a long, draughty room. He seated himself on the dark wood table. Across from him sat Starkweather himself, though Jem could barely make out the man in the dim. The candle's light caught glimpses of his greyed hair and the corners of his impassive, wrinkled face. They without conversing, the sounds of knives and forks scraping against plates and distant rainfall filling the air instead. The food was flavourless, but Jem made himself force down a few bites for the sake of civility. 

At the opposite end of the table, a chair dragged across the floor. "Mr Carstairs," said Starkweather's ashen voice, "I thank you for visiting York. It is late, you must wish for rest." The floorboards creaked as he left the room from the other side. Jem set down his cutlery and left the dining room the way he came in. Outside, he was greeted by the stoic manservant, who led him up to his quarters and then left him without another word. 

Jem sat down on the bed. It was hard as hell. Gossamer thin spiderwebs hung in the corners of the room and the fireplace grate was rusted beyond help. He took a dose of yin fen and lay down in the bed to sleep. When he awoke in the morning, it would be one less day at this miserable place. Yet, no matter how long he lay there for, sleep would not take him. He tossed and turned for an hour, the bed groaned and whined. At last, he sat up. His first instinct was to reach for his violin, but it would disturb Starkweather and his employees. He could not become a nuisance in his first night there, after all, considering who he was, Starkweather was not inclined to like Jem. So, instead, he left his room for a bit of exercise. Going outside was too much. Perhaps he would explore around the Institute. 

There wasn't much to see, which wasn't particularly shocking. Jem saw much of everything in a few minutes, barring a room labelled 'spoils', purely because he already knew what was inside. A copious amount of the Starkweather's personal belonging was scattered around the Institute, the family's symbol of a bolt of lightning emblazoned on walls, and a row of portraits, going as far back as Old Starkweather's grandfather. He had been looking at the paintings of Starkweather family members when he came upon it. It was a painting of Starkweather's granddaughter, Adele Lucinda Starkweather, a girl who, according to the engraving on the gilded gold frame, died aged ten. Despite the deep tradegy of that fact, it was not what struck Jem most deeply about the portrait. It was Adele herself. Though sickly-looking, with an ashen face and heavy eyes, she held a strange resemblance to someone Jem had met. No matter how long he stared at it, he could not recall who it was. The name was just at the edges of his grasp. 

Now he was even more agitated. Jem went back to his quarters and seized his violin out of the trunk, heedless of the noise he might make. The violin had been made by the luthier Guarneri, who had made violins for musicians as famous as Paganini. For Jem, it only held value because it once belonged to his father. He had taught Jem how to play when he could barely hold the instrument in his hands. On impulse, Jem played Chopin, a piece meant for the piano that his father had adapted for the violin and wooed his mother with. Though his mother was practical, like him, and his father was a romantic, the music had moved her nonetheless. He had taught Jem how to play it, insisting, "I played it for my bride, and one day, you will play it for yours."

That was before. He knew now that he would never have a bride, a fact that he did not pity himself for, simply understood. His mother had taught him how to be practical enough to look at something like his own mortality and see it objectively. But, no matter how badly he wished not to admit it - Jem wanted to play it for a girl. He wanted her to hear the music and be taken by it as his own mother was so many years ago, and he wanted for her to smile at him. He wanted love, not in the same way Will found it, dark blue eyes raking, loose-tongued - a facsimile of the real thing. He wanted the sort of love that poets wrote about. The kind his father and mother had shared with each other. The sort he felt when he remembered her, the fire in her eyes. He wanted the love he felt for Miss Gray - 

Miss Gray. Miss Theresa Gray. That was who's likeness the portrait of Adele Starkweather reminded him of.


	28. So Close, So Far Away

Motion - that was the first thing she was conscious of. Great, sonic motion, like Pegasus thundering through the sky on his mighty wings. After that, Tessa decided that she must be on a carriage - which may or may not be pulled by a heard of Pegasi soaring through the sky - and that she could not remember how she got on it. Every attempt to try and recall what had happened after the confrontation at the Institute only made her feel nauseous. 

Perhaps it was also fair to assume she had sustained a concussion of some sort. 

From the window behind her, it was clear to see that it was night, though the sky was softly lightening. She did not recognize the landscape, suggesting that she had been taken far away indeed. 

"You idiot!" a female voice shrieked. Tessa recognized it, "She's awake! Put her under again!" Put her under. They meant to drug her. 

Tessa sprang up straight, despite the pain it caused her head, and smashed her fists through the window behind her. She grabbed a large shard of glass and held it up against her neck. 

"No one moves!" she cried, "Do anything other than what I say and I kill myself!" Wind pummeled through the glass-less window and barraged the back of her head. Tiny shards of glass caught in her hair. 

Mrs. Dark and the man next to her stared with open mouthed horror at the drops of blood leaking out of Tessa's hands. That was when she saw the crucifixes and the holy water - weapons for fighting vampires. She jumped back to that night in the Institute grounds and that man, Gregory. He had held a knife to her throat and threatened to kill her. It had slipped her mind - What kind of life did she lead where a man threatening to slice off her mouth could slip from her mind? - but it seemed that he meant to do good on his promise to 'avenge Camille Belcourt's honor'. Oh, that dammed Lady Belcourt! She could rival Mortmain in treachery and deceit. 

Surrounded by enemies on both sides, Tessa had a grave decision to make. Either she stayed in the carriage and remained at Mortmain's mercy, or left the carriage to be at the mercy of the vampires. The choice between vampires or Mortmain was a hard one indeed, and every second she pondered it brought her closer to where Mortmain wanted her. In the end, deciding that taking a chance was better than taking none, Tessa threw herself out the back window. 

The crash was the most painful part, but Tessa had anticipated that. Now it was a matter of getting up, much easier said than done. Her bones felt as if they had each been individually battered with a hammer, and many were certainly broken. The glass from the window had done its part, too. There were cuts and gashes all across her body, and a growing bloodstain on her skirt. As she lay, she was a beacon for vampires. She had to get up. 

Tessa pushed herself to a sitting position. Pain shot through the arm she propped herself up on. Her head swam - the cocktail of concussion, drugs, and adrenaline made her nauseous. At least she was still numb to the majority of her injuries. She folded her legs so her knees pointed up to the sky. Then, with a great push, she forced herself to her feet. Changing would make her injuries less of a problem, but she didn't feel near strong enough to Change. So, as Tessa Gray, she began to walk. 

There were a pair of men in the distance, sallow with cruel smirks on their faces. Vampires. Tessa turned the other way. Despite how far they were from her, Tessa could hear their laughter. They made no attempt to chase her. They knew there was no point. She would succumb to her injuries eventually. 

Though she knew it would not work, Tessa tried to Change - a horrible decision. Her head only swam more and her vision blurred. Perhaps she was crying now, too. 

How long had it been since she slept in the London Institute, surrounded by Nephilim who would protect her? She had thought her situation was dire then. Now, Tessa would do anything to be back in the Institute, to hear the sounds of Miss Lovelace and Mr. Herondale bickering, Mr. Carstairs' lovely violin, Mrs. Branwell's strong, comforting voice. She thought of her time at the Institute, and her heart ached for the morning after de Quincey's party, when she and Mr. Carstairs discovered that secret passageway, or that night in the attic with Mr. Herondale. If only they could appear before her and fight away all who threatened her! 

In fact, they needn't fight anyone, but if they could just be beside her once again, that might give her the strength she needed. It was so wrong of her, but she wanted to walk through the dark with Mr. Carstairs again, to embrace Mr. Herondale in her arms once more. She remembered what Mr. Carstairs told her of the Council's disregard for him due to his condition, and the brief moment Mr. Herondale let himself speak of the pain in his own heart, the memories of the sisters he had to leave behind. More than perhaps anything, she wanted to take away all the pain in their hearts, and replace them with the fruits of love and sweetness that they deserved. 

Tessa's knees finally crumpled beneath her. She had collapsed before a small stone building enclosed in a stone wall. As she looked at it, she caught eyes with an old man staring out of it. His gaze seized upon her as if she was the most precious thing he had ever seen. The thought to ask him for help had just crossed her mind when thin hands with steely grips took ahold of her and she was spirited away once again.


	29. Liar

"Right this way!" Will called with a grand gesture toward Henry's crypts. Gabriel rolled his eyes at him while Gideon was more willing to humour him. He held the door open for the three of them to enter and fixed his gaze on the ceiling when Greta passed.

Inside, Henry was hard at work tinkering with a mechanism Will would never be able to name. He tapped him on the shoulder, and Henry just then realized that there were people in there with him.

"The briefing," Will reminded him.

"Oh yes!" Henry said, getting up. Behind Will, Gabriel sniggered. It took all the strength within Will's bones not to turn around and smack that git.

Henry retrieved the technical drawings for automatons that Will and Miss Gray had extracted from de Quincey's estate and spread them on the table for all to see. Will touched a finger to the corner of the drawings and smiled, recalling how he had teased Miss Gray after he discovered them. He was a bit surprised that the paper wasn't yellowing by now. It seemed a lifetime ago that Miss Gray had been at the Institute. There was a hollow ache in his chest that he quickly pushed down. Not now. Not while Greta stood so close to him.

"I made replicas of the automatons based on these drawings a few days ago, if you'll all recall," Henry tapped on the back of the automaton in the drawing, the critical weak point he had instructed them to aim for, "By the reports, this automaton seems to be different. On a hunch, I checked, and one of the Institute's Pyxis seems to be missing. It would appear that on the same night that Mortmain abducted Jessamine and Miss Gray, he also stole the Pyxis-"

"Also stole the Pyxis!" Gabriel cried, "Why, this is the height of incompet-"

"So, how do you suggest we defeat it?" Gideon said.

"How you would any other great demonic foe, of course," said Henry, "I would suggest weakening it enough to trap it within a circle of salt and then resealing the demon inside the Pyxis. After that, it's simply a matter of defeating the automaton, which you four have ample practice in doing."

"You make it sound so simple," Will muttered.

"A sound plan. Thank you, Mr Branwell," Gideon reached out a hand to shake his. Henry, unaccustomed to being addressed with such gratitude, was a bit bewildered but accepted the hand and thanks nonetheless.

The four changed into heavy gear and armed themselves to the teeth. Thomas brought out the carriage but took his time putting the horses into their harnesses. His hands were clumsy and jittery, he seemed to be distracted. He did manage it, in the end, and all the while Gabriel was muttering about the 'utter incompetence' of everyone in the Institute. Will instructed him to drive them to the last place the Demonic Automaton had been spotted, a gin palace in the East End, and so began the longest journey of his life.

He was on decent terms with the elder Lightwood, but not good enough friends with him to strike up a conversation. As for the other two, he would die if he spoke to Greta, and rather die than speak to Gabriel. And so, he had to keep his eyes facing out of the carriage window at all, lest he make eye contact with the wrong person and create a horrible awkwardness. The other two must have surely noticed the lack of dialogue between him and Greta. They had been friends before - not nearly as good of friends as he and Jem, of course - but good enough friends that he could call her 'Greta' without feeling much shame.

If things had gone the way they were meant to, perhaps he could have fallen for her instead. He could almost imagine it: being her good friend until come the day he realized she was a woman, too, and slowly falling in love with her. The London Enclave would be aghast. Their two most troublesome Shadowhunters, together. What terrors the Fae-Nephilim children they had would be!

The picture seemed so ideal he almost wished that he never met Miss Gray at all, but that made him even iller. He had known her for so short a time, but within it - from the moment she threw a jug at him to the last time he saw her in a room surrounded by automatons, fearlessly facing her greatest enemy - she had imprinted upon his entire being. Every fibre, the very fabric of his being was engraved with her name and face.

The carriage came to a stop a few yards from the gin palace and broke Will out of his thoughts. Coal dust and smog tasted like the sweet air of his Welsh countryside compared to that claustrophobic carriage. The sky was dull and overcast, and the sun would soon be setting. Will instructed Thomas to conceal himself and the carriage and listen for their call. He nodded and did as he was bid.

"What now?" demanded Gabriel.

"How was it that the two of you found the automaton in the first place?" Gideon asked.

Greta slid the Sensor out of her pocket, at which Gabriel groaned.

"You cannot mean for us to use the same device that nearly got you two massacred by Downworlders!" he sputtered.

"Keep your voice down, Lightwood, you'll alert the entire street of our presence," Will snapped, "You may be deaf, but the rest of us are not. Did you not hear the many times that Miss Keeley explained to the Council that the device worked exactly as intended and it was all the error of humans at work?" Miss Keeley. Will couldn't recall the last time he used such a formal form of address for Greta. It felt unnatural in his mouth.

Greta was staring so intently at him he thought he might catch on fire. This was the closest he'd come to addressing her since the fateful event itself.

"And how else do you suggest we find the Demonic Automaton, Gabriel?" added Gideon, "The method Miss Keeley suggests is tested to have worked in the past. If you reject an idea you must have another, better alternative to offer."

Gabriel purpled and sputtered but had no answer. It felt good to gang up on him. Will almost wanted to go on more missions such as this one so he could see him purple and sputter some more.

"Then it's settled," Gideon said. He nodded at Greta, who turned on the Sensor, and the four of them set off after the signal.

It was a silent trail, but this silence was not uncomfortable. They had a task to accomplish. Will had his wits about him, surveying the environment around them for any sort of movement. As they walked, the Sun disappeared from the sky. There were no brilliant colours of sunset, no waltz between light and sky. The light simply failed until there was none.

They came upon a bakery where the Sensor caught a strong signal. Greta turned off the device and turned back to the group.

"He and I shall check the lower level," said Gideon, "And you and Mr Herondale shall -"

"No!" Will said, much louder than he ought to. Greta bit her lip.

"Is there an issue?" Gideon asked, frowning at him.

"I mean to say - it's not wise for us to split," Will tried again, conscious of Greta standing opposite him, "The automaton would have a quicker time defeating us if there were only two. Just look at what it accomplished when it was only Miss Keeley and me." Miss Keeley again. Greta's stare at him grew colder and colder.

"That is true, but in that situation, you two were taken unawares, were you not?"

"And perhaps the problem might not be if numbers, but the skills between you two," said Gabriel, eager to seize any chance he had to diminish Will.

Will gave him a shark-toothed smile. "Of course, that is a possibility."

"Well then," said Greta, arms folded, "if Mr Herondale finds my skills to be unsatisfactory, perhaps he would prefer to be paired with the younger Mr Lightwood instead, an undoubtedly more accomplished gentleman."

This was a slap to the both of them. Greta knew how they despised one another. But, on second thought, perhaps she had handed him a great boon. After all, if they were alone together in hostile territory, and poor Gabriel Lightwood were to be maimed or killed, well, Will couldn't be blamed for it, could he?

Savouring the image of his bloodied corpse, Will swung an arm around Gabriel and said, "What say you, Lightwood, my dearest friend? Doesn't it sound like the most marvellous adventure?"

Gabriel glared at Will and said, "Are you sure of this? There are other courses that we have yet to consider."

"I, for one, am quite happy with the arrangement," Greta said, "I am certain Mr Lightwood and I will be a better hunting pair than that of Mr Herondale and I."

"Alright, then," said Gideon, "Miss Keeley and I shall take the lower floor, and the other two shall take the top."

"But -" began Gabriel.

"Enough, Gabriel! We are wasting time with bickering. The Demonic Automaton could have moved on and slaughtered countless more by now."

"Yes, Lightwood," Will echoed, "do stop wasting time with mindless bickering."

Gabriel scowled and brushed past him.

Will and Gabriel scaled the wall, finding footholds in buttresses and faults of the building, while Greta and Gideon stealthily entered the downstairs bakery. Reaching the end of the wall, Will found footing on the outside of the balcony and then swung himself over it. He was about to delight in having reached the top before Gabriel when he saw that he was already inside. With his spirits slightly dampened, Will entered the room through the door Gabriel had rune'd open.

The room seemed to be an apartment belonging to a single person, either the owner of the baker downstairs or one of his tenants. There was a stove in the corner of the room with a kettle nearby for making tea and a few cupboards. Decorations were sparse and the table had only one chair. In a cluttered side of the room lay a slim single bad with a great lump within it. Nothing of note seemed to be in the flat, but it was dark so there were great shadows cast over the room.

Gabriel was inspecting some of the clutter near to the bed. Will was on his way to check on the stove area when his foot caught on something. He knelt down and felt it. It was rather fleshy. An ill feeling grew in his stomach as he traced around the body and touched a thick liquid. He brought his finger up to his nose and sniffed it. Blood. The flat was intended for a single person, and this here must have been that single occupant of it. If the occupant of the flat lay dead at his feet - then what was that great heap in the bed?

Will whipped his head to face the bed and was about to call a warning when Gabriel drew back the sheet. The automaton whirled to life. Brick and dust flew every which way as it exploded to its true size, bombarding Gabriel in the process. Will barely had a chance to blink when the damaged floor, already sagging under the automaton's weight, gave and sent it crashing through the floor.

A cable shot out from below them and the Demonic Automaton flew through the air, landing on another rooftop. Will raced to the edge of the building and made to leapt across to where the automaton was when he saw Gabriel. He was covered in his own blood and struggling to draw an iratze with his shaking hands. If he didn't go immediately he would lose sight of the automaton - but he couldn't leave Gabriel to bleed out, either.

Cursing under his breath, Will called down to Greta and Gideon to follow that automaton and drew an iratze on Gabriel's quivering arm. Gabriel narrowed his eyes at him.

"I'm helping you, you ungrateful bastard!" Will shouted, and he pulled Gabriel to his feet. He turned back to where the automaton was last. It was nowhere to be seen. Will cursed again and leapt across.

He landed catlike on the other rooftop and did a 360-degree survey of what was around him. Will hadn't a clue what to do. Without Jem, it felt as if he had lost one of his senses. He squinted at the gloom until he spotted a limping figure in the distance. Judging by the silhouette, it must have been Gideon.

"What's happened?" Will called, "Where's Greta?"

"I don't know!" Gideon called back, "She and I were fighting the automaton just a minute ago, then Miss Keeley threw some holy water on it. Didn't like that. It seemed to go into a rage. She ran to try and avoid it. I didn't see where she went because I was on my back. Think the bloody thing broke my leg."

"Right. Draw yourself an iratze and tend to your brother. He got himself rather injured back at the bakery."

"Are you truly mad, Herondale? You can't mean to pursue the automaton by yourself."

As if in response, Will ran off into the night. Gideon sighed and followed on his heels. Will had a good idea of where Greta might go if she was threatened. Even if he didn't, the automaton's trail of destruction was considerably difficult to miss. He came upon the river bank, and not a moment too soon. Gideon immediately set upon the automaton. Will meant to join him, but then his eye caught what the automaton had been attacking previously. His mission exited his mind, all he could do was run.

Greta's breathing was laboured, most likely due to the massive gash across her body. Blood spilt out of the wound, thick and sticky. The ground surrounding her was stained the colour of rust. Will pulled out his stele and brought it to her arm, but Greta pushed it away. "No," she breathed.

"No? What's gone wrong with you, woman?"

"Let me bleed out, Will. It's the least you can do for me."

"The shock is making you say this," Will put his stele on her arm, "You'll be back to your senses after an iratze."

"Stop, Will!" Greta snatched her arm away, "I am in agony. I am in agony. Let me die."

"Greta," Will whispered. He lifted her into his arms. She was crying.

"Don't you dare touch me, you bastard. Don't force me to look at you. The last thing I ever see can't be your face."

"I can't allow you to die," Will said, "because I love you."

"Liar," Greta coughed.

"No," Will's mouth was dry. His throat felt like sandpaper. The angels above were cursing him, "It's true. I love you." He lifted Greta's head up to his own and put his lips on hers. She cried even more. Her arms snaked around him and she melted into him. Greta kissed him as if he was food and she had been starved since the beginning of time. Her blood was smeared all over Will.

Will pulled away. Greta's face was red and marred with tears. Her eyelashes were dark. Will took her arm and drew and drew an iratze on it. She didn't object. The gash oozed a final few bits of blood and began to close. He set her back down on the ground and whispered, "Let yourself rest." Greta nodded numbly.

He stood up. The action took every last ounce of vitality within his body. Suddenly he was hyper-aware of the world about him, not just the chaos and the song of Gideon and the Automaton exchanging blows, but all the mundane things, too: the sound of water flowing through the Thames, his own breath, cool air against his skin, distant metalwork and drunken mundanes shouting. Life itself seemed to slow. Every part of him screamed how wrong this was. He ignored it and made himself focus on what was happening before him.

Gideon and the automaton were engaged in a waltz, the automaton slicing through the air where Gideon's head was just a minute ago. Smaller and lithe, Gideon could move quicker than the automaton and land more blows, but it took only one hit to land for him to be gravely injured, whereas the automaton could take a thousand of Gideon's blows and remain unscathed. The fact that Gideon likely had a broken leg did not serve to help things.

Will drew his sword and slowly approached the automaton. Other automatons relied on sound for information, perhaps this one was the same. Though, being powered by demon energies, this particular automaton likely lacked that weakness. Think. What had Henry advised them to do? They were on the riverbank, so perhaps that could-

The river. Will recalled something he had read not too long ago in a book - that the Thames was not a river in truth but an estuary, a place where ocean tides and river water merge. He picked up his pace, and the racket of stones flying in his wake drew the automaton's attention. Will drew a vial of holy water out of his belt and hurled it at the automaton. It didn't do much to harm it, but it certainly was irritated. The automaton turned its attention to Will, who waved his arms above his head to ensure it knew that the vial-thrower was him. Gideon shot him a quizzical look.

Will backed up toward the water and stood with his back to the water, facing the automaton. Drawing up its heavy, barbed arm, the automaton flew into a flat out sprint toward Will. At the last moment, Will dove out of its path and the automaton was instead faced by the foul, brackish water of the Thames.

"If you hope to drown the thing, you should know that it does not need to breathe!" Gideon shouted.

"Salt!" was all Will said in response.

Gideon frowned. Will turned back towards the automaton. It was shuddering and convulsing as a red ethereal material pulsed around it. Will drew his sword and plunged it through the automaton. The red material surged forward out of it, and Gideon ran forward to sealed it into the Pyxis. Without its source of power, the automaton fell backwards and its parts disseminated into the river.

The sword in Will's hand felt terribly heavy. He stuck it into the ground to steady himself, then his knees buckled and he collapsed by it with his hands still gripping the handle. Gideon patted him on the back. A pair of feet scampered up behind him, and Gabriel gasped, "By the Angel, he's done it." This was the first time he had spoken about Will in tones that even gestured toward respect. Greta crawled up next to him and took him by the arm. Her eyes were shining as she looked up at him. Will had just defeated a threat that countless Nephilim before had failed to, and he had never been so miserable.


End file.
